


Think In Terms Of Bridges Burned

by regionals



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Found Family, Inexplicably Rich Goth Idiot, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:06:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regionals/pseuds/regionals
Summary: A lot can change in five years.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of two supernatural fics that i have planned, but beyond those two i dont know if im going to write anymore?
> 
> characters are bound to be ooc, especially since it's an au, but i've tried my best without literally going through the series and taking notes. i'm just here for a good time, man.
> 
> anyways... here's a little backstory:
> 
> i had an idea for an au back in 2013/14 but i was not nearly as good at writing as i am now, and now that i chose to get caught up on (and subsequently sucked back into) supernatural, i decided to write this. i just havent been able to find a way to go about it until now. (i even had a draft of this from 2017 that i tried writing and honestly it came in handy!)
> 
> this is part one of five, and i think this will probably be the shortest part? lmao.

**January - 2005**

*

It’s four in the morning on New Year’s Day when Sam calls.

Dean is asleep, dead asleep, with Lisa pressed against his back, hugging him to her chest. He jerks awake at the shrill sound of his ring tone, and without opening his eyes, he feels around for his phone on the side table, flipping it open and bringing it to his ear, saying, “It’s four in the fucking morning.”

Lisa makes a noise from behind him, something disgruntled, but he doesn’t think she’s woken up yet.

His edges soften a little bit when he hears Sam on the other end. _“Uh, yeah. I know. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t… Y’know. Serious.”_

Dean smacks his lips a few times, and nudges Lisa’s hand from where it rests on his chest, and she wakes up enough to let him go, telling him to hurry up before the bed gets cold when he stands up. He stumbles out of the bedroom, leaving the door cracked behind himself, and waits until he’s in his kitchen with a glass of water to ask, “What’s happening, Sammy?”

“ _Uh. I went out to grab a pack of smokes and a bottle of Champagne, ringing in the new year and all, and when I got back…”_ He can picture Sam’s chin wobbling in the way it does when he’s about to cry. _“The house. It was on fire.”_

“And?” He doesn’t mean to sound as grumpy as he does, but it’s early and Sam’s distressed tone can only buy so much sympathy, at least at this point in time.

“ _Jess got trapped inside, I guess, and she’s…”_

At _this_ point in time, Dean straightens his posture, and, _“Oh._ ”

“ _Yeah. It’s—it’s bad. I think… I need some help.”_

*

Dean was hoping to spend the rest of his paid time off sipping mimosas and fucking his breaks out.

He spends the rest of his paid time off in California, helping Sam go through the motions, helping him deal with the aftermath of the house fire that killed his fiance. (He tries apologizing to Lisa for leaving so abruptly, but she gives him a bored look, and tells him that if he doesn’t hurry up and leave, then she’s going to boot him out the door her damn self.)

*

Jessica’s funeral makes for what is possibly the most awkward family reunion Dean has been to.

John acts sad, and gives Sam a single hug, but Dean suspects that he doesn’t really give a shit.

Hell, Sam ends up sitting with Bobby during Jessica’s wake, talking about dead lovers and bonding over their trauma.

It’s uncomfortable at best, and Dean goes through a bottle of wine.

*

**March - 2005**

*

Things happen in threes.

The first thing that happens is that Lisa meets someone else, and breaks up with Dean, instead of going behind his back. He’s bummed out, as expected, but he appreciates her honesty and isn’t upset for more than a week or two. (The guy she meets seems to be pretty alright, and even if Dean doesn’t say it, he sort of likes the dude and thinks that he may, in fact, be a better match for Lisa in the long run anyways.)

Thing number two is that Sam moves to the middle of bumfuck _nowhere_ Illinois, and Dean moves with him, because his boss is a jerk, his job is a joke, and he can’t stand living with John for another second. (He moves out of Lisa’s condo and back in with John. It’s supposed to be temporary, and, really, in hindsight, he supposes that it was, but living with John for a few weeks is a few weeks too long.)

And lastly, but not least, Sam _meets someone._

Dean uses this word sparingly, but the girl he meets is a bitch. Sam is rebounding and Dean tries telling him, tries reminding him that his fiance died not more than a month and a half ago, but he shrugs, and says, “Ruby’s cool. She’s helping me.”

That makes Dean’s lip curl a little bit, since he doesn’t trust Sam, not about this. He doesn’t fight him.

*

**April - 2005**

*

In April, Dean steps into Sam’s room, across the hall from his own, looking for his car keys, and is not pleased with the sight that he’s greeted with. It looks like a scene out of a shitty cop show on a cable channel. Sam’s room is inconspicuous, and just _Sam_ — decoration is sparse, colors are muted, and even if they’re living in a double-wide for the time being, with wood paneling and not a lot of options, it’s quaint and unsuspecting, and lived in just enough to give it the whole unsuspecting vibe.

Dean doesn’t bat an eyelash at the empty cigarette boxes on top of his brother’s dresser — figuring that he’d probably pick up smoking again if the love of his life managed to die in a house fire on New Year’s — nor does he do more than snort at the not very well hidden baggy of weed that’s thrown in with the mix. That isn’t strange to him.

Sam smokes cigarettes, less when things are good and life isn’t insane, and more when the situation gets dire and he can’t figure out another way to cope with his problems. Dean could also go on about the medicinal benefits of weed, and discuss the biology behind different strains, to try and justify it, but, really, weed is just _fun_ and after the past few months that Sam has had, Dean can’t blame him.

He can blame him, though, when his search for his car keys leads him to the milk crate that Sam has turned into a makeshift nightstand for the time being. Past the shock at what he sees, he’s mostly _pissed,_ and doesn’t hesitate to reach down, and to snatch what he’s pretty sure is a baggy of fucking _heroin_ from the milk crate.

*

Dean doesn’t yell. He wants to, it’s his first instinct, but he knows better than to yell if he wants to get his point across with Sam. (This isn’t to say he doesn’t raise his voice a little bit, or to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, of course.)

He doesn’t have the words to express how bad this is.

Sam explains, tries justifying himself, saying that Ruby knows a guy that makes the really _pure_ shit, that it’s fine, that it’s helping him process his grief, using his big college words, and Dean keeps his voice low and his tone even when he says, “ _You_ need to break up with her. I pay the majority of the bills here, and I don’t want _heroin_ in my house. You sure as fuck don’t need to be _shooting up_ with it either.”

Sam decides that this is the appropriate time to correct Dean. “Actually… I smoke it.”

Dean does shout, though, to say, “I don’t give a shit! If you’re having problems, _talk to me,_ and don’t let your fucking _tweaker girlfriend_ give you _heroin_.”

“We all deal with grief in our own ways.” Sam doesn’t give a shit.

Dean is angry. He’s sad. He lets the argument rest for now, since he has shit to do. (Mainly grabbing groceries and dinner.)

*

**May - 2005**

*

Sam’s birthday comes and goes. Dean takes him out for drinks, buys him a small yet wildly overpriced cake, and they watch reruns of a shitty cop show, until about midnight, which is when Sam decides that he needs to leave after getting a phone call. (Dean sees the caller ID. It’s Ruby. He’s not pleased, but it’s late and he’s tired and not in the mood to argue. He does make a face when Sam mentions her name, though.)

*

Dean cracks, and gets into a shouting match with Sam when he decides to spend Mother’s Day with Ruby, getting high and ignoring the world, while Dean drives back to Kansas for the day to have lunch and to visit with their mother.

*

Dean has a six inch sub from Jersey Mike’s and a bottle of beer in either of his hands as he’s lowering himself down onto the ground, sitting in front of Mary’s grave. Her tombstone is simple, the kind that’s embedded into the ground, lying flat, and Dean runs his fingers across the lettering.

_Mary Winchester_

_December 5th, 1954 - June 2nd, 1993_

He talks, tells her about _life,_ about Sam, about how he’s scared, fearful, feeling as if he’s caught in the calm before the storm, about how he doesn’t know what to do. He tells her that John’s doing fine, as sad and as dickish as ever, with a bitter smile on his face.

He talks about his new job a little bit, too, saying that accounting isn’t exactly his dream job, despite getting his undergraduate degree in finance, but that it pays the bills and that he’s, at the very least, able to put a roof over his and Sam’s heads for the time being. His boss is kind of a jerk, but he does his paperwork and hands out raises regularly, so he can’t complain.

He can picture her telling him to backtrack, to explain what’s going on with Sam in more detail. “You know how he is,” he mumbles. He picks a few blades of grass, and takes a bite out of his sandwich, washing it down with a swig of beer. “He’s more stubborn than me and Dad put together, and always marches to the beat of his own drum.” He sniffs a bit, and digs the heal of his dress shoe into the ground, clenching and releasing his fists a few times as well. “It’s just that, this time, his drum is made out of smack, and he just wont _listen_ to me.”

He wipes his hand across his forehead, and shakes his head. “For someone so smart, he’s a dumb ass. I hope you know that, Ma.” He can picture the sad smile on her face and it makes his chin wobble a little bit.

*

It’s later in the month that Dean gets to witness someone going through heroin withdrawals for the first time in years.

He’s not pleased with Sam, shocked that he’d apparently been smoking enough to have withdrawals, but he sucks it up and does his best to nurse his little brother through his withdrawals, making sure he drinks enough water and that he eats, even if he throws it back up half the time anyways.

*

**June - 2005**

*

Dean and Sam pick up a card from a dollar store, scribble both of their signatures into it, then mail it to John for Father’s Day. They do it more or less as a formality, rather than out of any genuine concern for him.

They go on a road trip to South Dakota, to spend Father’s Day with Bobby. (Dean knows that it’s a slap in the face to John, and he can appreciate that John tried his best, but he rationalizes it, considers that Bobby’s pretty much the one who raised both he and his brother, the one who sat down with them, gave them all of those awkward talks, who listened and didn’t speak over them whenever they had a problem, and that, yeah, Bobby is a little more deserving of the light of day at this point.)

Over dinner, with Sam across from him, Jo on the other side of him, and Ellen and Bobby at either ends of the table, Dean decides it’s not an appropriate time to bring up Sam’s drug habits. He wouldn’t have brought it up over dinner anyways, but he was planning to confide in Bobby before leaving to head back home, to bumfuck _nowhere_ Illinois, but then Ellen starts speaking, nice and low and in a tone that someone would speak to a frightened child with, saying, “Kids, I have some news.”

Dean finishes chewing a bite of steak, swallowing harshly. “Go on…?” He’s expecting to be told that someone died, or that someone has cancer, but the news is, quite frankly, a lot better than that.

The news is that after ten years of seeing each other off and on, and ten more years of living together and being a _family,_ Ellen and Bobby are _finally_ tying the goddamn knot. Dean’s quick to touch his forehead, the center of his chest, his left shoulder, then his right shoulder, exclaiming, “Thank _god,_ you two are finally doing it!” with a wide, beaming grin on his face, and a boisterous laugh.

Sam is happy too. His happiness is more reserved, expressed through a few meaningful hugs and kisses on the cheek, with a smile that doesn’t leave his face for the rest of the night.

*

**July - 2005**

*

Sam disappears for a few days, starting on the fourth, and Dean’s stretched a little too thin to properly question him.

Sam comes home late in the evening on the seventh, while Dean’s eating from a takeout carton of fried rice and sipping from a bottle of beer, and all he asks is, “Have fun?” in a tone that conveys that he’s not pleased, but not about to fight, either.

Sam looks like shit. He has bags under his eyes and he looks a little too skinny for someone that’s damn near six and a half feet tall. He grunts, throws his wallet and his keys on the coffee table, and stumbles towards the hall, obviously strung out, mumbling something about going to bed and for Dean to leave him alone.

*

**August - 2005**

*

Zachariah is a dick.

Dean is crammed into a conference room with about twenty other people, most of whom are department heads, including himself, and his boss is at the head of the room talking and _talking._ Dean’s mastered the art of tuning a person out, only to tune in again when it’s important, and his interest piques a little bit when he hears, “Now, there are policies in place that prevent me from revealing _who,_ _”_ the smile on his face is so very obviously fake; “but, there’s a handful of people in this company who’ve failed their quarterly drug tests, which means that next week, we’re all having a _workshop._ ”

He’s excited, but in a fake way, in the way that clues Dean in on the fact that he’s livid, and that if there weren’t policies in place, whoever those people are that he’s talking about would’ve been fired already. He’s doing this because he has to; not because he wants to. He explains that a friend of his is the counselor for an AA, and an NA group, and sets out a stack of brochures before excusing himself from the room, calling the meeting to a close.

Dean doesn’t need one, but he snags a brochure on his way out, and a quick Google search reveals that his boss’s _friend_ is, in fact, his nephew.

Dean makes a note of the phone numbers listed on the brochure, and any relevant addresses. On the drive home, from Peoria to Pontiac, he decides that he’s going to leave the brochure on Sam’s dresser.

The two of them have never been particularly skilled at direct confrontation without getting into a shouting match.

*

Sam sees the brochure, or so Dean assumes, since when he opens the lid to the garbage can to throw a chip bag away a few days later, he sees the brochure torn into five pieces. Dean’s pretty sure that this is Sam’s way of telling him to fuck off.

*

Dean sits through the workshop. It’s awkward and it’s mostly just the counselor talking. No one in the room particularly wants to be there, and the man at the head of the room can tell. Dean lingers in the room until everyone else has left, and he swallows his pride, tapping the guy on the shoulder. “Hey, man, can I… Pick your brain for a minute?”

The counselor— _Gabriel,_ as his visitor tag reads—looks up from where he’d been straightening a stack of brochures. He has an easy going and agreeable expression on his face, seeming more than happy to listen. “Absolutely. What’s bothering you?”

Dean clicks the pen in his hand a few times. He sighs, and glances towards the open door, making sure no one’s eavesdropping, before speaking. “I’m not—I’m not using, or drinking excessively, but my little brother… I keep finding heroin in his bedroom, and he keeps coming home, strung out, and I don’t—I don’t know what to do. Do you… have any advice? I figure you’d… know about this sort of thing.”

“Have you tried… talking to him?” Gabriel quirks an eyebrow, and adjusts his posture a little bit. He’s kind of a small dude. Dean towers over him.

“Of course. He won’t listen to me, and I’m not—I don’t exactly have a ton of experience with this kind of stuff. I don’t know what words to use, or how to go about it properly. I don’t know how to drill it into his head that, hey, maybe smoking heroin is a bad idea, y’know…?”

“I’ll be honest,” he starts, before turning around, and nudging the door to the conference room shut. Once he’s facing Dean again, he continues. “A lot of the time, the most you can do is to be there for him. I’ve been doing this for a little over a decade, man, and people only get help if they really want it. If they don’t want it, then… They won’t get help. On that note, though, I don’t think that it’s a waste of your time to try talking to him. Letting him know that he has someone to go to if he ever needs help, or wants out—that’s important. You can’t force him to get clean, but that doesn’t mean you can’t provide him with the resources to do so.”

Dean chews on his bottom lip, and nods, slowly. “Can I… take a look at your brochures, again?”

Gabriel does a gesture. Dean appreciates his demeanor; laid back, easygoing, nonthreatening. He understands the gravity of the situation. “You sure can, buddy. Take as many as you want or need.”

*

Dean takes a few different brochures, each with different resources and hotlines and websites listed on them, and he pokes into some local resources, ones that don’t require commuting to Peoria or Chicago or to any other city further than a ten minute drive. He sits Sam down on an evening that they’re both free, an evening that Sam isn’t out with Ruby, or one of his other friends, or _whoever,_ and he slides a manila envelope towards his brother. “In that envelope is a ton of brochures and informational packets and whatever other bullshit I could find. I’m not going to force you to get clean, because I realize and understand that I can’t do that, and that it’s not my place to force you, and even if you’re not interested in it at this very moment, I want you to have this information on hand, so that you can make the right call when the time comes. Also, I’m totally here to talk to you, man, if you ever need it.”

Sam doesn’t look too happy, but he takes the envelope, and pokes through it for a few minutes. Dean doesn’t find any of the contents of it torn up at the top of the garbage can, so he counts that as a small win.

*

**September - 2005**

*

Sam moves out, seemingly abruptly.

Dean gets home one evening, and Sam’s things are _gone._ (Save for any large furniture. Of course, he couldn’t be bothered to take his bed or his dresser.)

He calls him, and Sam’s bullshit explanation basically amounts to him just needing some _time_ away from everyone, including Dean.

It stings a little bit, and he keeps tabs on Sam, as much as he can, but if he needs space, then he figures he can give it to him.

*

Dean bumps into Gabriel at a bar, of all places. He’s filled with liquid courage, scotch, which is the only reason he has the nerve to saunter up to where he’s standing at the bar, and to say, “It’s a little unbecoming, to see an AA counselor in a bar.”

Gabriel recognizes him. He smirks, a bit. “I have a healthy relationship with alcohol; I don’t see why I can’t go out for a few drinks, once in awhile.” He shrugs, and slides a twenty dollar bill across the bar, with a wink at the bartender, as he’s being handed a bottle of beer. “You’re the guy with the brother, right? How’s he doing?”

“He appreciated my gesture, but he still moved out a few weeks later anyways, so…” He clicks his tongue and shrugs. “He’s not talking to anyone.”

“You know, man… That royally sucks.” Dean gets a pat on the back, and somehow, he thinks that Gabriel means it—means the pat on the back in the most genuine way possible. “You should come sit with me and my sister. She’s single, and you look like you need to get out of your own shit for awhile.”

Gabriel jerks his head towards a booth, one containing a pretty redhead, and Dean is like a goldfish with a one track mind. All he has to think is, _‘Pretty,_ ’ before he’s looking to Gabriel with a grin on his face, saying, “Sure, man.”

*

Anna is lovely. She’s a freshly divorced lawyer and has about ten years on Dean, but she’s so freaking _lovely_. He’s charmed; enchanted, at least for the night.

They fall into bed together, and as she’s sliding a hand into his jeans, she whispers, “I’m rebounding,” against his mouth. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

He shrugs and his fingers flex against her hip. “Maybe I’m rebounding too.” He’s pretty sure he’s past the rebound phase of his breakup with Lisa, but he says it anyways. “It doesn’t need to mean anything.”

It’s a pretty decent one night stand, and Dean’s pretty sure it leads to a fairly solid friendship between himself and Anna.

*

**October - 2005**

*

Dean winds up going on a single date with Anna, after she calls him, to ask him if he’d be interested. He’s not _not_ interested, so he shrugs, and tells her that he’ll let her know when his schedule is clear.

It winds up feeling more or less like a couple of friends hanging out on their day off, and before Anna leaves to go home, she has a knowing look on her face when she asks, “That wasn’t a date, was it?”

“Not a lot of a girls come over to have a few beers and to catch up on Scrubs with me.” He chuckles. “We should hang out again sometime. That was fun.”

She shrugs, as if to say, _“Maybe so,”_ before giving him a kiss on the cheek, and making her exit for the night.

*

Dean hasn’t heard from Sam since September, at least not outside of vague text messages that let him know his brother is still alive, and the occasional meme in an email. The first time he sees him, in person, after him abruptly moving out, is while he’s at the same bar as last time, with Anna, sans Gabriel.

He doesn’t see Sam walk in, because it’s a bar and he doesn’t care enough to pay attention to the door since there’s always people coming and going. He’s telling Anna a story about the worst Halloween he had, about how John had gotten drunk and thrown a fit, as a drunk freshly widowed man would, and had thrown his little brother’s trick or treating haul away over something stupid. “I was so pissed, man. I ended up just blowing fifty bucks, replacing his candy, and then some, because I felt so bad about it.”

“Well, aren’t you a knight in shining armor,” She teases, knocking back a swig of her drink. “I think that’s very sweet of you.”

Dean’s about to say something else, to start telling another story, when he’s being roughly shoved over in his side of the booth, watching as a bottle of beer gets slammed down on the table. He hasn’t seen Sam in over a month. He may or may not be a little bothered by the fact that when he does see him, it’s nearing midnight, at a bar, while his little brother is very obviously fucked up. “She thinks you’re sweet, Dean?” Sam looks to Dean, then to Anna. “You think he’s sweet?”

Anna seems a little taken aback, and Dean doesn’t know how to respond, other than to sputter for a moment as his brain tries to process what’s happening.

“Uh, Anna, this is… Sam, my little brother. The one I was talking about.”

“Oh? You were talking about me?” Sam leans on the table, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, giving Dean a look that makes it seem as if he’s a hell of a lot more interested than he really is. “Were you telling her about how I’m some big, evil junkie?”

“Okay, I don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re on,” Dean whispers, jabbing him in the ribs with his knuckle, to get his point across, “but you need to cut the attitude. I told her about that year that Dad got piss drunk and threw your trick or treating candy away, because you left a dirty dish on the counter instead of in the sink.”

Sam grunts, something noncommittal, before moving on. “Are you two on a date, or something? She looks a little old for you.”

Anna steps in. She leans forward, looking Sam in the eyes. “We’re not on a date, but you’re still interrupting us, so I think you should go.”

Surprisingly enough, he does get up, muttering something along the lines of, _“Fuck me for wanting to talk to my brother, I guess,”_ before sauntering back over to the bar, bottle of beer in hand.

“He’s a lot less sweet than you let on,” Anna comments.

“His fiance died in January, and his stupid girlfriend introduced him to the world of drugs.” Dean does jazz hands, seemingly jokingly, even though the look in his eyes says that he’s lost, nearly to his wit’s end. “I get going through a rough time, but he’s been acting like an asshole lately. I’m _so_ sorry about… him.”

“It’s not your fault that he’s making bad decisions.”

“I know, I know.” He rolls his eyes, sighs, and picks at the peeling leather on the seat of the booth. “I still feel like I’m somehow responsible, though, y’know? He’s my little brother. I’ve been taking care of him for his entire life, pretty much. I want to help, but he won’t let me, and even if he would, I don’t know how.”

“Have you considered… an intervention?” She quirks an eyebrow, and while Dean answers her, she takes a napkin from the napkin holder on their table, and wipes up a condensation ring from the table.

“A few times, but I think that, more than anything, it’d just piss him off.” He knocks back the rest of the scotch in his glass, shivering a little bit as it goes down. “Enough about him, though. Let’s just… Focus on drinking and talking.”

“If you want to have a heart to heart, we can do it on a different night.” She tilts her glass a little bit, as if to propose a toast. “To drinking and light-hearted conversation.”

Dean tilts his empty glass back at her.

*

**November - 2005**

*

Dean texts Sam, asking him if he’s going home, to Bobby’s, for Thanksgiving. He gets a text back about how he’s spending it with Ruby’s family, and Dean turns his phone off for the weekend as he starts making his way towards South Dakota, to spend Thanksgiving with his foster family. (He mails John another card, for Thanksgiving, except this time Sam doesn’t sign it.)

*

**December - 2005**

*

Dean finally reaches out to someone in his family—hell, he’s forced to—while he’s taking a smoke break, a seldom occurrence, the week before Christmas. (It’s the end of the quarter, and he’s up for a raise. A good stress smoke is warranted.) He frowns down at his phone in disbelief at the name that’s flashing across the smaller, tinier screen on the front.

_John W._

He debates with himself, considers not answering it, but he figures that he probably should, since John only calls him if it’s an emergency. He takes a drag of his cigarette, before flipping his phone open, and bringing it to his ear; “What do you want?” He jiggles his legs, since he’s cold, and flicks ashes onto the concrete below his feet.

“ _Have you talked to your brother lately, Dean?”_ He has a certain tone, a certain inflection, that makes the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stand up.

He can’t tell if he’s about to get yelled at or if something bad has happened. He grips his phone a little tighter and clears his throat. “Uh, no, I haven’t. I mean, I’ve tried—I’ve tried talking to him, but he won’t return my calls, and I don’t know where he lives right now. Why?”

“ _Just got the insurance bill for the month,”_ John starts. Dean can hear papers rustling in the background—John looking at the aforementioned bill. _“Do you have any idea what he could’ve possibly done to have ran me a fifteen hundred dollar bill,_ after _the_ _deductions?_ _”_

“I don’t, sir.” Another drag off of his cigarette. His eyes close and he tilts his head back, face towards the sun, before sighing. “I could find out, if you want to give me the name of the hospital that billed you.”

John agrees, and once they’re off the phone, Dean gets a text message containing the name of the hospital, the phone number, and an address.

*

Dean gets his work done early, and the first place he stops before going home, or doing anything else, is the hospital that Sam is apparently at. He charms the receptionist, flashes her an award winning grin, and asks her if there’s any possible way he could visit with his little brother. (It does help, of course, that he’s Sam’s next of kin.)

The receptionist smiles at him, cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and gives him a room number and directions on how to get there.

Dean’s half expecting for his little brother to be in a coma, or to be sleeping, or _something_ , but he’s greeted with the sight of Sam reading a book that’s lying in his lap. He taps on the door frame a few times with his knuckles, and lets out the most inconspicuous, “Heya, Sammy,” that he can.

Sam looks up at him and Dean’s heart drops into his stomach. He’s seen that dead in the eyes look of defeat before, and he has to hold his tongue to keep from saying, _“You look like Dad.”_

“Dad sent you to yell at me over the insurance, right?”

“Probably.” Dean nudges the door mostly shut behind himself, and plops down into one of the chairs next to the bed with a grunt. “What the _fuck_ happened?”

“I… overdosed.” He sniffs, and shrugs, dog-earing the corner of the page he’s on in his book. “Ruby had half a mind to get me to an emergency room, before pulling a disappearing act. I haven’t… heard from her, or from anyone, really. Just as well, I guess. You’re here now, though, to bitch me out over the bill…?”

“Had Dad fax me a copy of the bill,” he mumbles. “I sent him a check for the fifteen hundred. You’re lucky you’re still on his insurance.”

“Government insurance is pretty killer, gotta admit.” Sam doesn’t look Dean in the eye. He digs his thumbnail into the cover on the book, instead. “It’d be cheaper if they didn’t cram me into this stupid private room.”

“Would you want to share a room with, like, four other people?” Dean laughs, pretending for a moment that nothing’s wrong. “If you’re going to be hospitalized, you may as well go for a private room, y’know?”

Sam lets out a huff of laughter. “I should, I should, yeah.” He’s tearing up a little bit, too.

Dean has an urge to reach out, to try comforting him, but he refrains. “Sammy, I’m serious. If you need help, we can get you some help.”

“The first step is admitting you have a problem, right?” Sam still isn’t looking at him. He looks older than he is. He looks weary and tired and like life’s just been a little too much. “I know that it’s a problem.”

“Maybe we can find you an NA group to go to,” Dean tells him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started this with sabriel in mind but the destiel of this fic grabbed me by the heart so Here I Am I Guess? i changed the Primary pairing to destiel because i... don't look at me
> 
> also if you want to know why this took me a month to finish, then this is why. almost twenty thousand fucking words.

**January - 2006**

*

Sam moves back into Dean’s humble double-wide. It’s clean and well kept and it’s better than living out of a car or someone’s extra bedroom. Dean breathes down his neck, supervising him, like he’s Sam’s parent, and although Sam can tolerate it, understanding that Dean worries in his own way, it’s still annoying.

Dean also gives him an ultimatum.

“I hate to do this, man, but if you’re going to be living here again, we need to have some ground rules.” He taps his pack of menthols on the kitchen table, and Sam looks up from the newspaper he’d been eyeballing.

“Okay.” He looks back down at the newspaper. The article he’s looking at isn’t overly interesting. “What are those ‘rules?’” He sucks a hearty sip out of his coffee mug too.

Dean sits down across from him, pulling the ashtray from the center of the table, towards himself.

Sam ends up folding the newspaper back up, and motioning for Dean to hand him a cigarette.

As Dean is lighting it for him, he starts speaking; “First of all… I don’t want any drugs in this house. I’ll let weed slide, because… _C’mon,”_ He shrugs, and flicks ashes into the ashtray, _“but_ if I happen to come across anything harder than aspirin, you’re going to hear about it.”

“Already done.” Sam takes a puff off of the cigarette. “I sold what I had.”

“Smart. Figured you would’ve gone for flushing them down the toilet.”

“Dude, no.” Sam laughs. “May as well make a few extra bucks. What are the rest of your rules?”

“Okay. Well. If you feel that this is unreasonable, you’re free to move back to Lawrence with Dad, or to podunk South Dakota with Bobby, _but,_ I want you to either start going to AA, or NA—take your pick— _or_ you need to get a job. I will also accept grad school and passing the Bar Exam.”

“Hm.” He takes a drag off of the cigarette, breathing in as deep as he can, and taking his time on the exhale as he comes to a decision. “I’ll start with NA, I think.”

“Alright. That’s… All I really wanted.” Dean adjusts his position in the chair. “Are you sure you don’t want to fight me on this a little more…?” A single eyebrow shoots up.

“Do you _want_ me to argue with you?”

“Nah.” He waves a hand. “I’m going to keep on your ass about the NA thing, though.”

*

Sam borrows Dean’s car the following Friday, and makes his way to Peoria. He wrings his hands on the steering wheel most of the drive, gritting his teeth and tapping his foot at a few stop lights, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. (He’s usually a pretty laid back guy, but this, going to a Narcotics Anonymous group, is new, different, something he’s never done before nor ever considered he might need, and the idea of any major life changes are a little daunting at the moment.)

The meeting is held in a Church, in a recreational room. It reminds him of every AA or NA meeting he’s ever seen on TV; in a room that looks almost corporate. There’s a circle of foldout chairs set up in the center of the room, and a table containing cups of what looks like juice—probably apple—and a cheese plate near the back of the room.

Sam’s about twenty minutes early, and he lingers in the back of the room, sipping from a cup of juice (which turns out to be apple juice) while eyeballing the cheese plate. It’s when he decides to take a seat at one of the chairs that the door opens from somewhere behind him. He turns his head to look behind himself, making eye contact with the person who’d just walked in.

The first thought that pops into his head is, _“He’s cute._ ”

The man smiles politely, and approaches him. “Hey, man. I stepped out to use the bathroom before the meeting.” He has a hand out, and Sam turns a little in his chair so he can stick his own hand out to shake his. The man introduces himself as he and Sam shake hands. “I’m Gabriel, and I’m the counselor for this group.” He also gestures towards the sticker on his chest that reads, _“Hello, I’m GABRIEL >:P. _”

“I’m Sam.” He smiles his own polite smile, and turns to face forward in his seat as Gabriel steps into the circle of chairs, to sit at one opposite of Sam. “Uh. My brother—I think you’ve met him a few times—he… Recommended your, uh… I don’t know. He just gave me a brochure, and I showed up.” Sam shrugs, and rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh!” A look of recognition flashes across his face. He leans forward in his chair, giving Sam his full attention. (Not that he hadn’t been doing so before, but it’s more obvious, now.) “You’re _the_ Sam? Dean speaks _very_ fondly of you. I honestly wish _my_ brothers cared about me half as much as yours does,” he jokes. They’re alone, otherwise Sam’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have made that joke.

“He’s a good brother, yeah,” Sam responds with a warm chuckle. “So, uh… How does this go, once there’s, uh… More people? Do I have to speak in front of everyone?”

“You can speak as much or as little as you like, bro. Don’t feel pressured into sharing more than you’re comfortable with. It may sound corny, but… This is a safe space. No one’s going to judge you. Everyone has their own story and journey, and we’re all here to work towards recovery.”

Sam feels his breath getting caught in his throat. Something about the way that Gabriel speaks strikes a chord with him. “This probably sounds weird, man, but… You have a very kind way of phrasing things. I don’t know if it’s part of being a counselor, or what, but I really appreciate, like, everything that you just said.”

Gabriel makes a face, something bordering on flattery and cockiness, and he winks. “Part of it’s from going to grad school, the other part is just because I’m awesome.”

Sam giggles, _giggles,_ and for the first time in a year he feels like he can breathe.

*

Sam has never been particularly skilled in his timing.

He does wait until after the third meeting he goes to before he does it, figuring that since things didn’t and wouldn’t work out with Ruby, and that since Jessica definitely isn’t coming back from the grave anytime soon, and even knowing that it’s at least a little inappropriate—he figures it wouldn’t hurt to ask Gabriel if he wants to go out for dinner, or for _something,_ at some point. He thinks that, maybe, trying to date someone else, someone that wasn’t going to encourage his drug habits, _someone_ that has a decent head on their shoulders may or may not be a good idea.

He waits until everyone has cleared out of the room, save for Gabriel, before approaching him. Gabriel is near the table that usually has juice and either a cheese or cracker plate set out, getting things cleaned up, and Sam leans against the wall next to where he’s standing, to ask, “Hey, man, is it inappropriate if I ask you out to dinner?”

One of his eyebrows goes up. “Even if I _wasn’t_ your NA counselor… I have at _least_ a decade on you.”

“We’re both adults,” Sam points out. “If I’m old enough to get addicted to heroin, I’m old enough to ask an older man out on a date.”

Gabriel snorts, and Sam can see him biting his cheek to hold back a smile. “And… you think that calling me an older man is going to win you any brownie points?” (He ends up smiling anyways.)

“Maybe you’re into some weird shit. I wouldn’t know that, but, I’d love to get a _chance_ to know that. If it doesn’t work out, then no harm done.”

Gabriel hums a little bit, before deflating slightly. He gives in. “You make a convincing argument, I’ll give you that.” He rhythmically taps his fingers on the table, exhaling sharply as he does so. “How about we exchange phone numbers, and you plan out this date that you desperately want to take me on, yeah?”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Are you looking a gift horse in the mouth?” Gabriel counters.

“Dude, no, not at all.” Sam puts his hands up defensively. “Absolutely not. I would be delighted to get your number.”

*

Gabriel isn’t Sam’s type, or at least doesn’t fall into the category of guys that Sam usually finds himself attracted to. His type tends to be tall, dark, handsome, and emotionally vulnerable. Gabriel is short, at least compared to Sam’s lanky frame, handsome in his own right but erring more on the side of cute, and he has an air of authority and aloofness about him, seeming somehow untouchable. He’s friendly as all hell and charismatic, too, and Sam can’t deny how freaking charming he is.

Sam waits until he gets an evening alone in the house, an evening where Dean works late and doesn’t make it home until sometime after eight, to muster up the courage to call Gabriel. He has a cassette, a mixtape, playing from Dean’s stereo in the living room, and instead of saying ‘hello’ or greeting him like Sam was expecting, Gabriel answers the phone with a moment of silence before asking, _“Are you listening to Oye Como Va?”_ followed by a cute, short little laugh.

“Uh, yeah, actually. You have a good ear. You also told me to call if I wanted to plan out that date I was talking about, so… I’ve called.” He uses his free hand, the one not holding his phone, to pick at the couch cushion he’s on, where the pleather is peeling a little bit. “I hope you were serious about that.”

 _“Even if I wasn’t, I love Santana. That would’ve been enough to catch my attention anyways.”_ There’s noise coming from the other end of the phone, shuffling, movement, and then Gabriel speaks again. _“I’m asking you out for dinner, Sam.”_

“I thought I was the one doing the asking.” Sam scoffs, light heartedly. “You can’t steal my spotlight like that.”

 _“Sure I can.”_ Sam can picture the smile on Gabriel’s face, and it fills him with warmth. _“I’m asking you out for dinner. If you accept, we’re going out to eat at a nice, mid-range restaurant sometime soon, and we’re going to have a romantic evening.”_

Sam smiles something soft and private; the smile he keeps reserved for times where he feels tender and giddy, and the laugh that slips past his lips could be mistaken for a giggle. It’s _soft,_ it’s sweet, and he says, “You know, man, I’d love that. I really would. I haven’t, ah… Been out on a date in awhile. I figure my skills are rusty, so maybe it’s for the best if you do the planning. Also, I… just winked…? I suck at being on the phone. You can’t hear my facial expressions.”

_“I felt the wink; don’t worry. I have a shit-eating look on my face. I’ll call you tomorrow, or something, so we can hash the details out further, if you’d like.”_

“Awesome.”

*

**February - 2006**

*

Sam’s plans while preparing for the date include getting ready as quickly and as sneakily as he can, and then slipping out of the house before Dean has a chance to see him, or to realize that he is, in fact, getting ready for a date. (It’s not that Sam is keeping this from Dean, it’s just that he’s keeping this from Dean. His older brother has a tendency to be overbearing and Sam doesn’t want to introduce the idea of him dating someone until he’s certain that the relationship actually has a chance to go somewhere.)

His plans fall through, though, or so he learns, when he glances up from where he’d been tying his tie in front of the mirror in his room, to see Dean leaning against the door frame, looking at him with raised eyebrows. “You goin’ somewhere, Sammy?”

Sam keeps his answer vague and nonchalant, despite knowing that either way, Dean is going to question him. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

“You hardly leave unless it’s for NA, or unless I force you.” Dean scoffs. “You’re in here in a suit and tie, trying to tell me you’re not going somewhere?”

"I'm just trying to postpone the inevitable questioning," Sam mutters.

"Little brother, you're full of shit." Dean gives him a pointed look through the mirror, before making a show out of shoving himself into a proper standing position, before walking across Sam's room. "I want to know where you're going."

"I have a date." Sam fidgets with his tie a little more, and Dean grins like a maniac.

"Atta boy!” He pats Sam on the back, harder than he needs to, hard enough that Sam coughs. Dean doesn’t acknowledge his coughing. “You're not dating another Ruby, are you?"

"Dude, no. Absolutely not. I learned my lesson with her. If someone seems shady, then they're probably shady." He adjusts the collar of his dress shirt a little bit, before Dean's grabbing his shoulder and turning him around to where they're facing each other.

"Lose the tie if you're going on a date." He reaches up, tugging Sam's tie loose, ultimately pulling it off and tossing it to the floor. "And maybe..." Dean's tongue is in his cheek and he looks as if he's concentrating on something hard and complex as he uses a single hand to pop the top button on Sam's shirt. "There. Now you look like you're ready for a date."

"I'm going to look like a douchebag." Sam frowns at him, and bends over to pick his tie back up. "I don't want to seem like a douchebag."

"It's like that, huh? Is she the real deal, Sam?"

"Stop teasing me. I just want to make a good impression. Is that so much to ask for?" Sam gestures with his hands, punctuating his words, trying to get his point across and to get Dean to leave him alone.

"It is, in fact, so much to ask for. You don't want to go in there looking all... uptight."

"My entire personality is uptight. I'm going to hopefully be a full-fledged lawyer one day. It's in my nature to be uptight, Dean. Also, I don't want to go in there half cocked and make an ass out of myself like you would." Sam has to bite his cheek from saying anything ruder or meaner than that.

Dean squints at him. "And which one of us has been in more relationships?"

"Dean, I was engaged, and believe it or not, heroin aside, my relationship with Ruby wasn't half bad either. The longest you've been with anyone was Lisa, and that was only for a year and a half. I was with Jess for four. I'd like to think that I know a thing or two about being in a relationship and making a good first impression. I'm putting my tie on, and you're going to just have to deal with it."

"Are you taking her to an expensive restaurant? Is that it?" Dean looks as if he's cracked some sort of complex riddle.

"You're an asshole, but yes, me and my mystery person are going to an upscale restaurant in Peoria in a few hours."

"Oh? Peoria?" Dean leans in, something predatory on his face. "Damn. She must be special if she's dragging your moody ass out of Pontiac for the night."

"Dean. Get out." Sam keeps his voice quiet, and points towards the door. "Leave me alone, and let me get ready in peace."

Dean does not listen to him, because listening just isn't in Dean's nature. He plops down on the foot of Sam's bed. "I'm afraid I'm not gonna do that, Sam. You're leaving within the hour, presumably, and considering you live in my house--"

"--double wide, that you rent for four hundred a month. Not exactly a house, Dean." Sam sing-songs the last phrase, giving his brother a shit eating look. "And, really, I get it, man. You're my big brother; you have this incessant need to tease me relentlessly; I'm familiar with your antics. I understand that not being a dick for ten seconds is lethal for you--"

"--and you're stalling, because you don't want to tell me anything about the girl you're going on a date with, right?" Dean clicks his tongue after his brother doesn't immediately respond, and Sam has an urge in the back of his mind to reach over and to smack the smarmy little grin off his face. (He doesn't, of course, but he sort of wants to.)

"I'm stalling because I don't want to come right out of the gate and tell you that I'm seeing someone, especially on the first date, when I hardly know this person, and when I don't know if it's going to work out. So." He shrugs. "Maybe give it a few dates before I spill any dirty details."

"Who is she? Can I at least ask that?"

"He." Sam turns away, now. It's not as if he's in the closet, or anything, but he hasn't exactly came out, either. He starts working on getting his tie redone after re-buttoning his shirt. "I met a cute guy, and he asked me out to dinner. I have a good gut feeling about him, but my gut hasn't always been right, so I was going to wait until I said anything."

"Okay." Dean looks a little taken aback, but he handles it about how Sam was expecting. "Who is he?"

"You're going to think it's weird."

"Unless you're dating some billionaire real estate mogul with a face that looks about as wrinkly as a raisin, I don't think I'm going to care, man." Dean laughs, again, something light hearted, and Sam's glad that he's not homophobic, or anything like that.

"My NA counselor."

"Gabriel?" Dean's eyes are about as wide as saucers. "You're going out for dinner with Gabriel?!"

Sam's about to defend himself, but they're conveniently interrupted by two honks of a car horn, a moment of hesitation, then another honk. Sam's half done with his tie, and ends up yanking it back off, figuring that his tie probably isn't going to make much of a difference anyways. "And that's my ride." He smiles, and slips out of the room, and before Dean can catch up to him and get him to stop, he's out the door.

*

Sam gets the vibe that Gabriel is a little wealthier than a counselor should be. The restaurant they go to — it’s a little _too_ nice, and the prices on the menu makes Sam’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull. “I don’t know if we’re going halfway on the bill,” he starts, as he flips through the menu, “but I don’t think… I could even dream of being able to pay for some of this shit.”

“What do you take me for?” Gabriel laughs, and Sam can’t deny that he’s freaking _charmed_ by the look on his face. “You wanted dinner — I’m giving you dinner, and a gentleman always pays for the first date. Don’t worry about it.”

Sam questions him a little further after a waitress brings by two glasses of ice water, for either of them. “I don’t mean to be rude, man, but…”

“How does a counselor afford all this?”

Sam does a little nod, accompanied by a hand gesture. “I mean… Yeah. This is kind of extreme, for a first date.”

“What can I say? I’m a people pleaser.” Gabriel chuckles a little bit, and stirs his glass of ice water with his straw. “Pop set up a trust fund that I cashed in on as soon as I turned twenty five, and Ma left a hefty inheritance. Made a few good investments, and here we are; the finest Illinois has to offer.”

“I hope you know that taking me to a fancy restaurant isn’t going to make me want to sleep with you.”

“Of course.” Gabriel’s face contorts into something filled with humor. “I’m counting on my charm and my good looks.”

Sam has to put a hand over his mouth to keep from letting out a loud and genuine laugh. “I think your charm and your looks might get you somewhere.”

*

Sam isn’t accustomed to waking up in a bed other than his own, at least not lately, and he feels a little weird about the fact that he’s not hungover in the slightest. He’s definitely not mad about it, of course. Once he has a better understanding of his surroundings, it comes back to him — sleeping with Gabriel, both in the literal and sexual sense, and sleeping _good_ for the first time in a long time.

He’s alone in the bed, and he scoots across it, squinting at the digital clock on the side table. It reads that it’s a quarter past nine in the morning. Sam lets out a ferocious yawn, before untangling his long limbs from the damn near _plush_ sheets on the bed he’s in, stumbling towards the haphazard pile of clothes that he recognizes as his own. He snags his underwear from the pile, slipping them on. He puts his button down on as well, not buttoning it, but rather wearing it in an attempt to sustain some form of decency as he ventures out of the bedroom.

His mouth starts watering as he draws closer to the kitchen, the scent of bacon filtering into his nose. He has a vague plan in the back of his head to flirt with Gabriel, to tease him about making breakfast, but he stops dead in his tracks when he’s greeted with the sight of a man that he _doesn’t_ know, plus a kid that can’t be any older than four or five seated at the kitchen table.

It’s early, and Sam tells himself that’s the only reason he has the balls to ask, “You’re not Gabriel’s husband, are you?” before letting out another yawn.

The man in front of the stove looks over his shoulder, face seemingly blank of any harsh emotions. He shakes his head, letting out a deep and gravelly, “Little brother. You can stay for breakfast, if you’d like.”

“Uh. I’m… Confused. Were you two… _here_ last night?”

Strange Man uses tongs to move slices of bacon onto a plate with a paper towel on it, and the kid at the dining table looks at Sam curiously, but doesn’t say anything. Strange Man moves the pan onto a burner that isn’t on, and turns the one he’d been using off, before turning to face Sam. “We were not _here,_ not last night, although I do… live here, most of the time.” He smacks his lips a few times, and Sam gives him a once over. He’s… cute, he supposes. He’s a little too skinny and he looks like he had a punk phase that he never quite grew out of, judging by the _Slayer_ t-shirt, jeans that look a size too small, dark hair, and the tattoos on his arms. “Gabriel went out to get you coffee, if you’re wondering.”

Sam makes a noncommittal noise of acknowledgment, and shakes his head, mostly to himself, before plopping down at the dining table, sitting as far away from the child as he can. He doesn’t complain or say anything when Strange Man serves him a plate of bacon and pancakes, after serving who Sam assumes is his kid first, but he does let out a quiet, “Sure,” when he’s asked if he’d like a glass of orange juice.

Strange Man pours him a glass of orange juice, and serves himself last. Sam figures he may as well try and make conversation. “What’s your name, man? I’m Sam.”

Strange Man reaches towards Sam, his hand stuck out, and his expression goes from mostly blank to vaguely pleasant as he says his name; “Castiel.”

“Cool name.” Sam shakes his hand. “And how about you, sir?” He directs his attention towards the kid. “What’s your name?”

The kid looks down at his plate, poking his two small pancakes with his fork, and Castiel cuts in.

“He’s… in something of a… _shy_ phase. His name is Jack.” He has a fond expression on his face as he tugs Jack’s plate towards himself so he can cut his pancakes into bites for him.

Sam goes with it, nodding and smiling. “Jack’s a cool name. I like it.”

“You’re definitely the friendliest one night stand my older brother has had in awhile,” Castiel states once he’s pushed Jack’s plate back.

“I wouldn’t say one night stand.” Sam cuts a bite out of his own pancakes, and elaborates before eating that bite. “We went out on a date — a lovely date, by the way — and… One thing lead to another. I wouldn’t label it as a one night stand, though.” He shrugs, too.

Sam can’t tell if Castiel is mocking him, or if he’s just _blunt._ “You must be special if Gabriel took you out on a date.”

“Am I?” Sam laughs lightly. He yawns, again. “I didn’t think… I mean, I’m just some kid.”

Castiel squints, tilting his head just slightly. “Gabriel would not have taken you out on a date if not for the fact that he sees something in you. I’ve known my brother for twenty six years. I’m well versed in his dating patterns.”

 _Weird,_ Sam thinks, _but alright._ “Do his dating patterns often include twenty three year olds?”

Castiel snorts. “My brother is a peculiar man, but I trust his judgment. You seem like a good person, Sam.”

*

Dean’s pissed when Sam gets home.

Not so pissed that he’s about to put his fist through the drywall, or anything like that, but he has a sour look on his face and he jabs Sam in the arm with his knuckles the first chance he gets. “Where the hell _were_ you?”

“I was with Gabriel.” Sam offers him a defensive shrug as he’s entering the small stretch of hallway that contains their washer and dryer, so he can start peeling his clothes off, save for his underwear, putting everything into the dirty laundry basket. “We went out for dinner, in Peoria,  went back to his place and, well, I’ll spare you the details, but this morning, I had breakfast with him, his brother, and his nephew, and then he brought me back. No harm done.”

Dean grunts, face still looking vaguely unpleasant , before asking, “Why’d you leave in such a hurry yesterday? I don’t give a shit if you’re… _gay,_ or whatever, man. And… Although I gotta admit that it’s weird that you went out on a date with your forty year old NA counselor, I’m not _mad_ about it.”

“He’s thirty seven,” Sam corrects him. “I left because I didn’t want you hounding me about it. You have a tendency to… do that.”

Dean grunts, _again,_ and walks away, muttering something about lunch.

*

**March - 2006**

*

Dean thinks it’s weird, for the first month or so, that Sam has decided to date his NA counselor, at least until he gets a chance to actually be around them, which is when he starts to understand, when it starts to make sense.

He tags along with Sam to Gabriel’s house for St. Patrick’s Day, and after a few hours of watching them interact with each other, it _clicks_ and he gets it. He doesn’t voice any of his thoughts until he’s standing on Gabriel’s patio, smoking with the man’s younger brother while Gabriel and Sam work on dinner inside. “How do you feel about small talk?”

Gabriel’s brother, Castiel, gives him a weird look, before shrugging, tapping ashes into the ashtray, saying, “I dislike small talk,” as he does so.

“Alright, well…” Dean looks behind himself, through the sliding glass door, rolling his eyes at the lovebirds in the kitchen, before continuing in a softer, quieter tone; “I haven’t seen my little brother smile or heard him laugh like that in… Well, in what feels like an eternity.”

“I was… _skeptical_ at first, when I found out about them, but they work well together.” Castiel sounds as if he’s being overly deliberate with his word choice. “My brother is very particular with who he dates. If he doesn’t like someone, or if he doesn’t think something’s going to work out, then he won’t bother. As far as I’m aware, he _really_ likes your brother. I don’t know if you’d worry, but… I wouldn’t.”

“I’ll worry an appropriate amount.” Dean shrugs this time, and taps his own ashes into the ashtray. “For once, I’m actually _not_ worried about him, which is saying something. All I freaking _do_ is worry, sometimes.”

Castiel snorts, shaking his head with a half smile on his face. “Well, as someone with a four year old who has anxiety, I understand.”

Dean cackles. “Fair enough, man. Honestly… The fact that they’re so… _serious_ about each other, especially so fast, makes me a little suspicious, but… I think that as long as Sam’s happy, I don’t care.”

“Happy is an ideal state to be in,” Castiel states. “If it makes you feel better, if my brother ever… fucks up, so to speak, I will be sure to chew him a new asshole.”

Swearing feels a little out of place, at least coming from Castiel’s mouth, and it makes Dean laugh again. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

*

Sam gets a job. It’s nothing glamorous—manning the register at a hole in the wall witchcraft supply shop called _Pamela’s Grove_ in Peoria—but he figures he needs something to do between now until he gets accepted into a graduate program, and that Dean would probably appreciate help with living costs. His shifts are in the evenings, and the lady who owns the place, unsurprisingly named Pamela, is understanding and cool about Sam taking off early on Fridays to go to his NA meetings, so long as he locks the place up after himself.

*

**April - 2006**

*

“You’re, like, an enigma.” Sam’s voice is quiet, trying to make some form of idle conversation as he helps Gabriel put together a new bed frame for Jack. (Gabriel sent Castiel and Jack out to go do some grocery shopping while he and Sam took care of the bed frame, since they’re the most technically capable, and since Castiel has a tendency to hover and loom over Gabriel’s shoulder.)

Gabriel hums under his breath, and motions for Sam to hand him a flathead screwdriver. “How so?”

“You’re just… You’re obscenely wealthy, from what I can tell, and you could probably hire someone to do this for you, yet… You don’t. You live like a normal person, in a reasonable house, when you could probably, like… I dunno. Live in a mansion, and have ten wives.”

Gabriel offers him a thoughtful nod. “I tried the mansion thing, after Ma died,” he starts. “Thought to myself, that since my older brothers are _dicks,_ and I hadn’t really spoken to Pop since I graduated high school, I should move to some Scandinavian country, live in the middle of nowhere in a big, fancy house. It was fun, I guess, but I got lonely. My family can suck, sometimes, but I missed my siblings, and circumstances changed, so… I moved back. Not that I don’t blow my money from time to time, but people often overestimate their needs.”

“I can kind of relate. I mean, our family has always lived paycheck to paycheck, but… After _my_ mom died, things got pretty bad. Me and Dean lived with a foster family for a few years, damn near got adopted, too, but then Dad decided to get his shit together just enough to look good in front of an attorney, so… I applied to law programs all over the country, and got into Stanford.”

“Stanford?” Gabriel looks genuinely impressed. “That’s amazing.”

“Dean and Dad were pissed.” Sam laughs. “I don’t even have the words to describe the shouting match that took place. Dad was angry that I was… abandoning him, I suppose, and Dean… He doesn’t like change, and I kind of… kept it from him. He got over his shit pretty fast, but Dad… never really did. The last time I spoke to him in person was over a year ago, I think. Point is — circumstances changed, and I came back. Dean can be an asshole, but I missed him.”

“So… He got mad at _you_ for going to college, yet he has his master’s in fucking _finance?”_ Gabriel laughs.

“He didn’t go out of state to get his education. I moved halfway across the country. There’s apparently a difference. I’m over it, though.” Sam shrugs, and holds part of the bed frame steady as Gabriel is making quick work of twisting the screwdriver.

“I’ll be honest with you, Sam—you’re kind of an enigma to me as well.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, and makes momentary eye contact with Gabriel. “Explain.”

“What I don’t get is why you never ask me for anything. You’re more than aware of my financial situation, and I could probably give you anything you’ve ever dreamed of with a snap of my fingers, yet… You just never _ask.”_

“Honestly…” Sam takes the screwdriver from Gabriel, and finishes answering as he carefully and methodically twists the tool. “I’m not… I'm personally not comfortable asking you for anything. Part of it is out of pride, but most of it is because I don’t really _need_ much in the first place, and also because I don’t want to take advantage of you. I don’t want whatever we have to be about whatever fancy things you think you should buy me. I also feel like it’d be cliche if me, a twenty three—almost twenty four—year old started asking my thirty seven year old boyfriend to, essentially, be my sugar daddy. This ass isn’t for sale.”

Gabriel grins at Sam’s joke, and shakes his head. There’s a few moments of silence, of Sam going to town with the screwdriver on the bed frame, before Gabriel speaks again. “So, boyfriend, huh?”

Sam freezes, eyes widening before glancing up to make eye contact with Gabriel. “Did I say that out loud?” His cheeks start to burn.

“You did, yeah.” Gabriel also gives Sam an out, after they sit there in silence—an awkward one this time. “If you didn’t mean it, it’s cool. I mean, we’ve only known each other since January.”

“I’m more freaked out about the fact that I _did_ mean it. Do you want me to take it back?”

Gabriel shrugs. “It’s up to you, _but…”_ He smiles, something sweet, something tender. “… I kind of like the idea of having a boyfriend.”

“Are we officially boyfriends, then?” Sam is holding back a smile.

“I think so, yeah.”

*

Dean makes a face when Sam approaches him the evening before easter, saying, “You should come with me to Peoria tomorrow. Gabe wants to put together a bitching Easter egg hunt for Jack and his friends. And, I mean, we haven’t done easter since we were kids.”

“Sam, we aren’t even religious,” Dean points out. “I also don’t want to spend my Sunday helping your boyfriend set up an Easter egg hunt.”

“You don’t even have any plans tomorrow.”

“I do too have plans.” Dean scoffs, and gives Sam a dirty look, leaning back in his spot on the couch, and turning the volume on his TV up a few notches.

Sam turns the volume back down using the buttons on the TV, and plops down on the opposite end of the couch. “Let me guess. You’re going to sit here watching reruns of General Hospital, drinking beer and scratching your balls. Maybe you’ll stop at a convenience store and pick up a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs. You’re predictable and there’s not a lot of room for variation, so, please, Dean, I would appreciate it if you would help with the Easter egg hunt.”

“You…” Dean looks as if Sam just dropped a bomb on him. “You cannot come in here, _call me out like that,_ then politely ask me to help you and your boyfriend set up an Easter egg hunt for his nephew.”

“Why not?” Sam challenges him. “I’m right, and you know it.”

Dean grumbles a little bit, knocks back a few swigs of his beer, and lets out a long suffering sigh. _“Fine._ I’ll help with the damn Easter egg hunt.”

*

Dean doesn’t complain while he’s actually in the process of helping with the Easter egg hunt. The closest he comes to complaining is when he catches Castiel sticking an egg between a few branches on a tree. Dean gets him in the arm, gently, with his hand. “Dude, why are you putting it up there? None of these kids are going to be taller than three or four feet. You’re easily six feet tall.” He grabs the egg, and hands it back. “Put it somewhere easier to reach.”

“You are… Very methodical with your Easter egg placement.”

“I’m going for maximum enjoyment,” Dean explains. “Can’t expect a kid to climb a tree for a plastic egg of jelly beans.”

“You would be surprised at what a child will do for candy.” Castiel doesn’t put the egg back in the tree, though. He places it at the bottom of the trunk.

Dean snorts and cracks a small grin anyways. “I was a kid once too, man. I got into things all the time. I still think putting an egg in a tree is a bad idea, but I know how far a child will go for candy.”

*

Dean starts to wonder when he became a pushover, because when Castiel gravitates towards him when asking for help cleaning up Gabriel’s kitchen from the aftermath of feeding twenty something people, he finds himself agreeing with no fussing involved. (Sam also happens to overhear the exchange, and gives him a weird look due to the lack of complaining. Dean just makes a face at him and proceeds to ignore him.)

He can vaguely register in the peripheral of his conscious the sound of Sam helping Jack put together a jigsaw puzzle that the four year old had been working on for a few days at that point while he himself scrubs at a pan with a bit of steel wool. It’s mildly awkward doing dishes with someone who is arguably a stranger, so Dean’s first course of action is to start up a conversation that borders on slightly too personal. “You know, man,” he keeps his voice quiet, to deter any would-be eavesdroppers, “I gotta hand it to you. Like, the whole single parent thing. It’s cool.”

Castiel nods, as if he’s taking Dean’s words into careful consideration. “He’s not my biological son,” he admits. “In every other sense, he is, of course.”

“You’re preaching to the choir on the whole biological versus adoptive parent thing, man.” Dean uses the sink hose to rinse the pan out, before handing it to Castiel so he can find a place for it in the dishwasher. “I hardly talk to my own dad.”

“I haven’t spoken to mine in… about ten years.” Castiel’s face shifts a little bit, his lip pulling up a little bit, as if to express disgust. “Most of our family lives in Detroit. After high school, I relocated to Illinois, with every intention of never speaking to my family again.”

“Yet you live with your brother,” Dean points out. He’s teasing.

“Circumstances changed. Also, if I may be honest, Gabriel is arguably the most tolerable out of all of my siblings, and… He’s not a bad roommate.”

There’s a moment of silence that stretches between them, one that isn’t awkward, and as Dean is handing him another plate, he speaks. “I don’t mean to pry, but… Did you… _adopt_ him?” He casts a brief glance behind himself, before looking back into the sink. “No shame, of course, but I’m kind of curious You’re… pretty young.”

“You’re prying, but I don’t mind talking about it.” Castiel shrugs, mindlessly tracing over one of the tattoos on the back of his left hand with an index finger, as if thinking of what to say. “One of my older brothers got a girl pregnant, and there were… complications during childbirth. My brother was not, and still isn’t, fit to raise a child, and I was the only person in our family that could, or _would,_ step up to the plate.”

Dean hands him a handful of forks. He’s nodding, slowly. “That’s… pretty noble of you, man.”

“Sam has mentioned that the two of you were in foster care in your… teen years.” Castiel walks around Dean, after closing the dishwasher, so he can wash his hands in the sink. “I don’t mean any offense, but I couldn’t, at least not in good conscience, let him grow up in… that. I’ve heard some horror stories, so to speak, and I rest easier at night knowing that boy is loved and cared for.”

“None taken. We had a pretty good foster family, but we’ve… heard our fair share of horror stories. Seriously, man, I think it’s super admirable of you to have, like… Adopted this kid, and to love him like that when no one asked you to.”

“It was less about obligation, and more about doing the right thing.”

And maybe Dean is charmed. Maybe he wasn’t expecting Castiel to open up to him like that, or for him to actually give a shit.

*

**May - 2006**

*

Sam spends the night before Mother’s Day with Gabriel. They’re tangled up in a mess of limbs and sheets when Sam’s phone starts ringing, waking either of them up. Sam groans, and when he reaches for his phone, which is on the nightstand, Gabriel grabs his wrist, mumbling, “Too early for phone calls.”

Sam tugs his wrist free from Gabriel’s grip (which was loose in the first place) and grabs his phone anyways. He peels his eyes open, sees _Dean W._ flashing across the front of his phone, and he barely manages to hold back a roll of his eyes before flipping his phone open and bringing it to his ear. “It’s too early.”

_“Don’t be a bitch. Are you visiting Mom today?”_

“That’s where I plan on going when I leave here.” Sam yawns. “Why?”

 _“I can’t make it, and that makes me feel a little less guilty,”_ Dean deadpans. If Sam were more awake, he might have snorted. _“Transmission went out in the Impala.”_

“Okay.” Sam grunts, sniffs, and grins a little bit when one of Gabriel’s hands comes to rest on his ass. “Good luck with your car, man; I’m going back to sleep.” Dean says something else, but Sam doesn’t hear him, since he’s closing his phone, and handing it to Gabriel, who puts it back in its place on his night stand.

Sam smacks his lips a little bit, and lets his eyes drift shut again, cozying himself into Gabriel’s chest. “Why did Dean have to call and wake me up at such an ungodly hour?” Gabriel’s voice sounds a little weird, at least from where Sam’s ear is pressed against his chest.

“Because he’s rude and since I’m his little brother, he has no reservations about rousing me, or you, just by association.”

Gabriel grumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like _what an asshole,_ and Sam has to smile. “What did he even want, this early?”

“He wanted to know if I’m visiting Ma’s grave today. Transmission went out in the Impala, and he can’t go.”

“And how are you supposed to get there, if the Impala is out of commission? You don’t have a car.”

“Catch a bus, or fly. I have some money put away,” Sam mumbles, and pulls Gabriel’s duvet higher up on the bed, to cover his shoulders. “I can figure it out later.”

“Where’s your mom buried?”

“Far enough away that you’re not driving me, so go back to sleep.” Sam reaches up to pat Gabriel’s cheek, as if to punctuate his point.

“I don’t work and I barely get out of the house more than a few times a week,” he reasons. “Driving you to go visit your mother for Mother’s day isn’t unreasonable.”

“It’s unfair to corner me when we’re like this,” Sam tells him.

“How so?” Gabriel says that through a yawn.

“Something about physical intimacy, and feeling safe. I don’t know. It’s too early for me to be Romeo.” Sam smacks his lips again, and lets out a yawn of his own. “You’re… nice. And I like you. And you’re being sweet.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes, even if Sam doesn’t see it. Sam does, though, smile when there’s a hand on his cheek, and Gabriel’s other hand moving up his back, coming to rest between his shoulder blades. “I won’t drive you if you really don’t want me to, but this sounds like it’s important to you, which, in turn, makes it important to me that you get to visit with your mom today.”

“I’ll think of it as a date. You drive me to podunk Kansas so I can visit my Mom’s grave.”

“We’re killing the romance game.”

Sam starts laughing, and tells Gabriel to shut up so he can get at least a little more sleep.

*

They leave Gabriel’s house around six (Dean had called at four), make a quick stop at a Jersey Mike’s to grab sandwiches after Sam explains that it’s something of an unspoken tradition to get sandwiches before visiting his mother, and they’re in Lawrence by one.

“It’s kind of cute, that you and your brother visit her,” Gabriel comments with a grunt as he sits down next to where Sam’s at in the grass in front of Mary’s tombstone.

“I was… pretty young when she died," Sam starts as he's peeling the paper from around his sandwich. "Old enough that I remember it, though. Before foster care, we'd come, like, once a week. It helped, if I'm being honest. It's also kind of cathartic to just _talk,_ even if you're talking to a tombstone."

Gabriel nods. "I'm not gonna judge an eleven year old for grieving. Just, by the way." He casts Sam a sly look, and Sam cackles.

"I think you're the only person who could make me laugh while visiting my mom's grave."

“Mm, what am I good for, if not to make you laugh at inappropriate times?” Gabriel leans over, stretching up a little bit, too, so he can kiss Sam high on his cheekbone.

“My mom would’ve liked you.”

“What makes you say that?” He starts unwrapping his own sandwich, now, looking at Sam and waiting for him to explain.

Sam shrugs, and picks at a loose piece of lettuce on his sandwich. “I just think she would have. Again, I was kind of young when she died, so I don’t know how she would’ve handled the whole _‘mostly straight, but occasionally meets a nice guy’_ thing, but even then… I think she’d like you regardless.”

“From how you and Dean talk about her, she sounds lovely.”

“What about your parents?” Sam throws him a curious look.

Gabriel makes a bit of a face. “That’s a touchy subject.”

“Ah. I mean, you don’t have to talk about them.”

He waves his hand a bit. “It’s fine. As far as the whole _not straight_ thing goes, Father couldn’t give less of a shit. In fact, my _siblings_ have had more issues with it than either of my parents. Ma died before I got a chance to come out, or to really even _realize…”_ He trails off. “I think she would’ve been fine with it.”

Sam picks a stray pickle slice from his sandwich — one that probably got mixed in with the lettuce, or something — and drops it into Gabriel’s palm without having to be asked, knowing he enjoys pickle slices. “I can’t imagine how my own dad is going to handle it. I want to say that, hopefully, he’ll lose his religious convictions and just _love_ me for who I am, but… He got pissed at me for going to college out of state, so I can’t say that I’m too entirely hopeful.”

“I’ll fight your dad for you. Defend your honor, and shit.”

Sam snorts. “I don’t know if you’d win. He’s an ex-marine and meaner than shit.”

“I probably wouldn’t, but it’s the thought that counts.”

*

**June - 2006**

*

Dean loses his job.

He’s not particularly upset about it.

He’s hardly missed any work for over a year, and when he comes down with bronchitis, his boss cuts him loose. Sam rambles on about how he’s within his rights if he wanted to sue the company for wrongful termination, or some other legal mumbo-jumbo.

Dean cuts him off eventually. “Man, my boss is a dick, and maybe this is a sign I should get out of accounting. I fucking _hate_ accounting.”

*

Dean doesn’t get out of accounting, at least not quite.

The weekend after he gets fired, Sam’s in Peoria with Gabriel — which is where he seems to be most weekends — and he’s unfortunately engrossed in a shitty procedural cop show when there’s three hard knocks on his door. They’re the kind of knocks that have him worried for a few moments, thinking that there’s going to be a cop standing out there, but when he peeks through the blinds on the window behind himself, he sees Castiel staring at the door with a blank expression, waiting for someone, Dean, to answer. Jack is standing next to him, with the same pensive look on his face, and Dean snorts as he’s hauling himself off of his couch.

He tugs the door open, slowly, as something in the back of his mind reminds him that Jack gets upset from sudden or aggressive movement. “It’s a little creepy, Cas, to show up at my home, unannounced like this.”

Castiel blinks once, twice, and the corner of his mouth twitches a little bit, as if he wants to smile, before he asks, “May I come in?”

“Sure, I guess.” He shrugs, and steps back. He’s a little surprised when Jack tugs his hand free from Castiel’s, making a quick pit stop to hug Dean’s legs, before going back to standing behind and a little to the side of Castiel.

Castiel gets Jack situated on the floor in Dean’s living room, with a coloring book and a box of crayons. Dean steps around him, nodding in approval at the sunflower he’s coloring in with a purple crayon, and takes a seat in his usual spot on his couch.

Castiel takes a corner seat, and Dean stares at him expectantly for a few minutes before he finally says something. “I’m sorry if showing up out of nowhere wasn’t alright, but, I have a proposition for you.”

“It’s cool. Lay it on me, man.”

“Okay.” He smacks his lips a few times, and scratches the back of his hand, before looking Dean in the eyes. “I’m a tattoo artist and I own my own parlor. Lately, things have been busy, and instead of hiring a stranger from the county, or doing my accounting myself, I was wondering if you’d be interested in working for me.”

“That… depends, but as long as I can pay my rent and I’m not stuck in a cubicle for forty hours a week… I’ll hear you out.”

“My humble little tattoo parlor is free of any cubicles, and you’re not going to have to worry about paying your rent if you… accept my offer. I just don’t want the IRS to sue me, and I’d rather pay someone I know and, quite frankly, _trust_ rather than whoever the county directs me towards.”

“How far of a drive is it from here?”

“Probably about the same commute from here to my parlor as it was from here to my uncle’s advertising firm.”

“And… you just want to hire me, no questions asked? No background check? No calling up my bullshit references?”

“... Do you _want_ me to run a background check on you?” Castiel looks a little exasperated. “Dean, I’m willing to pay you to do next to _nothing_ for thirty something hours a week. What is it with you _Winchesters_ and looking gift horses in the mouth?”

Dean may or may not start laughing, mostly since that wasn’t the response he was expecting. “I think I’m sold. It’s been awhile since I’ve made any risky life decisions.”

“Risky? Working for me is risky?”

“Your little brother’s boyfriend’s brother turns up on your doorstep with his kid and offers you a job. Tell that doesn’t sound risky.”

Castiel chuckles. “You do have a point. You’re free to turn the offer down, but… I’m willing to one up whatever my uncle was paying you. I value accounting.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Throw me a number, man. He was paying me a little too much.”

“Twenty five hundred.”

“A week?”

“A _month._ I’m generous, Dean, but I’m not _that_ generous. _”_

Dean lets out something of a sarcastic sigh. “It was worth a shot.”

*

Sam’s in the backseat with headphones on and a Walkman playing Weezer’s _Pinkerton_ on repeat while he sleeps, leaving Dean in the front seat next to Gabriel, who’s fidgeting and looking out of the window, then back to Dean, every few minutes. Dean’s a little _annoyed,_ and as he’s swapping one cassette for another, he grumbles out, “Stop looking at me.”

“I just don’t understand why we couldn’t have just _flown_ to South Dakota and rented a car.”

“I _hate_ planes, but I love road trips, and Sammy wanted to introduce you to the family. You’re welcome to get out and go spend Father's Day with your own father, if you want.”

Gabriel makes a face, and quips a smart remark back at him. “You aren’t even spending it with your own father.”

“And? Bobby gave me and Sam _the talk_ , let us have our first beers, and he taught either of us how to drive, so, in my book, he’s pretty much my damn father.” Dean glares. “Family isn’t always about blood. Figure you’d know that better than anyone.”

Gabriel squints, and looks back out of the window.

Dean sighs.

*

Bobby’s face drops when he gets an eyeful of Gabriel.

He pulls Sam aside the first chance he gets to get him alone. “Are you _sure_ you really want to be with him?” He’s coming from a place of concern, and Sam knows he has good intentions. “It just seems a little weird, for you to be shacking up with someone so much older than you, let alone your NA counselor.”

Sam nods, a little bit, and he’s quiet for a few moments before saying anything. “Look, honestly, I agree, and I can see where you’re coming from. We _shouldn’t_ work, but we do, and Bobby… I _really_ like him. I didn’t think I was ever going to get to feel this way about someone ever again, especially after Jess, but… Someone who’s damn near perfect for you metaphorically falls into your lap. What do you do? Do you ask questions? Or do you go for it?”

Bobby does a little head tilt, to indicate that Sam has a point. “Fair enough.”

“Exactly. I met him, and my gut told me to go for it, so I did, and… So far, it’s working out. There’s — there’s a lot of love between us, and what we have… It’s just _easy._ It’s not complicated, or weird. It’s _natural,_ and I don’t feel like I have to try so hard around him. I get being wary, but I can’t just — I’m _not_ going to let that go.”

Bobby gets it.

He expresses similar sentiments, relating his situation with Karen, and Ellen, to Sam’s situation with Jessica and Gabriel. It’s a moment that Sam knows he’s going to look back fondly on later in life.

*

Bobby seeks Dean out, too.

Dean’s on the front porch sipping from a can of PBR and smoking a menthol, figuring that after spending hours on end in a car with Gabriel for company, he deserves a cigarette. Bobby steps out, and takes a seat on the porch swing, on the opposite side of Dean, and after opening his own can of beer, he asks, “What do you think of Gabriel?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’re vetting him, aren’t you?”

Bobby doesn’t say anything but the look on his face is more than enough.

“Okay. Alright. Well. At first, I thought it was weird, but… Honestly, he makes Sam happier than I’ve seen him in _years,_ and they’re… They’re very obviously serious about each other, so… Even if I find Gabriel kind of grating, and not exactly my cup of tea, they’re good for each other and they have my blessing.”

*

**July - 2006**

*

Castiel’s tattoo parlor is closed for the night, and Dean’s just finished folding together a seventh origami frog out of boredom when he gets up from his chair in the front of the parlor (he’s taken over manning the front desk, if only to give himself something to do) and finds his way to the back, where Castiel’s just finishing up going over his schedule for the month.

He’s pretty sure that he’s being annoying as he sits down in one of the chairs next to Castiel’s desk to ask, “How bad do tattoos hurt?” as a way for him to segue himself into another question.

Castiel doesn’t look up at him, and his response is muttered quietly. “They aren’t pleasant, but overall it depends on your level of pain tolerance. There are some people who enjoy the act of getting a tattoo. Not to be too crude, but I’ve witnessed my fair share of boners throughout my career.”

Dean snorts and barks out a quick laugh. “Of course. Gotta figure people are into… that. So… Hypothetically, say someone was wanting to get a tattoo. How would that hypothetical person go about making an appointment?”

Castiel turns in his swivel chair, looking Dean in the eyes.

Dean feels something shift within himself.

Castiel has an intense gaze. “Are you wanting a tattoo, Dean?”

“Maybe.” He’s slouching, just a bit, in the chair, and has his arms crossed over his midsection. “It depends.”

Castiel turns towards his work computer, and wiggles the mouse until the screen comes back to life. He checks the time, or so Dean assumes, before turning back and speaking again. “I have about an hour until I need to be home. Why don’t we use this time as a… consultation?” He looks a little excited, eyes widened a little, mouth twitching into something resembling a smile. “If, hypothetically, you were to get a tattoo, do you have any idea of what you’d want?”

Dean finds himself shrugging. “No. I’ve always wanted them, but… given my line of work, I’ve just… Never had a chance. And, I mean, you’re super talented, man. Hypothetically… I’d be willing to let you decide for me. Nothing too big or flashy, of course, but… I don’t know. Something small to start off with.”

Castiel nods. “If it’s small and we could, you know, _hypothetically_ decide on something within the next ten minutes… We could do it now.”

He jiggles his leg and only has to think about it for a few moments, only has to see the look of building enthusiasm on Castiel’s face, before he’s saying, “Honestly? I want to do it.”

At that, Castiel grins.

*

The act of getting a tattoo isn’t overly pleasant, but it’s over and done with in a little under ten minutes. The tattoo either of them decide on is the symbol for Dean’s ruling planet, Uranus (♅) and his new friend rests between two of his ribs. (Castiel suggests the idea to Dean, gesturing to the back of the index finger on his left hand, pointing out the symbol for Mercury — his own ruling planet, and Dean thinks it’s a cool idea.)

Castiel seems oddly — or maybe not so oddly — professional as he walks Dean through the aftercare of his tattoo, recommending brands of ointments to use, advising him to stay away from anything medicated, lest it heal too fast. (He does mention, though, that he does free touch-ups, and that if it fades or heals wrong, getting it touched up wouldn’t be a huge deal.)

“Do not, under _any_ circumstances, use any rubbing alcohol or peroxide on it. If it gets infected, wash it with soap and water, and don’t agitate it more than necessary.” Castiel’s in the process of sticking a small piece of saran wrap over the tattoo, securing it with medical tape, to protect it from Dean’s t-shirt potentially irritating it, and any bacteria. “Leave the saran wrap on for at least a few hours, and if you haven’t changed your sheets in awhile, I’d recommend changing them when you get home. Um… As far as what to put on it — Aveeno, A&D ointment, Aquaphor… Stuff like that. If you have any questions, or you’re not sure about something, you… You do have my phone number, right?” This is probably the most expressive Dean has seen Castiel in the time that he’s known him, and it’s a little weird, seeing him like this, but he’s not complaining. He kind of likes it.

He nods, though, and as Castiel pulls his hands away from the tattoo, finished bandaging it, he lets his t-shirt drop back down. “Sam gave it to me at some point.”

It’s quiet, for a few moments, as Castiel is taking off his latex gloves, and properly disposing of them and the needle used for Dean’s tattoo. “Alright. Well. Any questions, feel free to call, or text.”

*

**August - 2006**

*

It’s just _convenient,_ Sam thinks, that his and Dean’s landlord tells them that they have a month to get the fuck out a few days after he has a conversation with Gabriel about what next steps they’re wanting to take in their relationship. (Namely, Sam moving in, since he gets accepted into a graduate program in Peoria, and since he works in Peoria in the first place.)

He’s the one who finds the notice crammed into their mailbox, and drops it on the coffee table, where Dean’s in the process of rolling a joint. (Dean’s plans for the weekend include getting stoned and watching shitty movies, since Castiel isn’t the kind of employer to force him to do random drug tests, and Sam’s plans _did_ include road tripping it to Chicago to go to a restaurant he likes, and to just dick around for a day or two before coming back.)

Dean tilts his head, leaning forward to look at the eviction notice.

Sam speaks, to ask a question, before he gets a chance to say anything. “Did you sign a lease?”

“We live in a trailer park in the middle of nowhere Illinois. Of course I didn’t sign a lease.” He rolls his eyes. “We have a month. We can worry about it after this weekend.”

“We need to _plan.”_

Dean sighs, to himself, mostly, and once he’s licked the glue strip on the rolling paper, and seals the join _shut,_ he replies. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to move in with Gabriel, because you’re going to school in Peoria, and you already work there, plus… You two seem like the type to move in together a little too soon. I’ll probably get a place in Peoria, too, hopefully near Cas’s tattoo parlor, so my commute doesn’t take me a collective three hours every day. I haven’t had a boss that doesn’t make me pass a piss test regularly since undergrad. Let me have my weekend.”

*

“You should let me pay your tuition,” Gabriel states, as he’s watching Sam prepare for a meeting with a financial advisor for the university he’s attending.

Sam has a polite and agreeable tone when he says, “No thank you,” without looking up from the sheet of paper he’s looking at. “I have enough saved for a few semesters, and I figure if I can get my doctorate’s and pass the Bar, I’ll be able to pay back any loans on my own.”

“You’re cute when you shoot me down like that.” Sam doesn’t need to look up to picture the teasing yet slightly wistful expression on Gabriel’s face. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive, Gabriel. I enjoy being mostly independent, and shockingly enough, I _still_ don’t desire any financial support from you.”

“You’ll live in my house, but you won’t let me pay your tuition?”

Sam looks up, so he can nod. “Precisely. I’m more than happy to mooch your groceries, but that’s about the extent of it.” He’s joking, a little bit. “If lawyering doesn’t pan out, then maybe, but until then, keep your wallet to yourself.”

*

With Sam being out of the house and moved into Gabriel’s in less than a week, and with Dean only having a few more weeks to find another place in an entirely different city, he hardly hesitates when Castiel propositions him during his lunch break.

He starts the conversation with, “I’m propositioning you,” then continues with, _“Not like that,”_ when Dean’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Haven’t had an authority figure proposition me in awhile,” he jokes. “Do go on.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, just slightly. “Alright. Hear me out. With Sam moving in, things are a little too cramped, yes? I think that this was the push I needed to move out of my brother’s home, and to get a place of my own. You’re also in the market for a place to stay, and, y’know, with having a kid, I don’t feel too comfortable with the idea of living alone.”

“Are you asking me if I want to be your roommate?” Dean speaks around half a mouth full of a Subway sandwich. “Outside of work, and outside of me third wheeling around my brother and his boyfriend, you hardly know me.”

“You’re clean, you pay your bills on time, as far as I’m aware with how Sam talks, and my son likes you. We might not know each other very well on a one-on-one level, but we aren’t strangers, either. You’re free to turn the offer down.”

Dean tells himself that the only reason he shrugs and says, “Sure,” is because he’s between a rock and a hard place, and not because Castiel is practically staring into his soul. “I mean… We could also carpool. Save the environment, and all that. I also hate living alone, anyways.”

“On the upside — if it doesn’t work out, we only have to put up with each other for a year.” Castiel’s joking, or so Dean assumes, judging by the subtle change in his tone.

He smiles a little bit and blows a slightly more aggressive than normal breath through his nose, in lieu of snorting.

*

**September - 2006**

*

Castiel is a creature of habit.

He gets up, makes himself a pot of coffee, and has a cup before taking his morning shower. He gets dressed, gets Jack up and dressed, maybe nudges Dean awake if he isn’t already up, and makes breakfast for everyone. Jack gets dropped off at school, and from there, he and Dean go to work. He picks Jack up from Gabriel’s in the evening, and after everyone’s been fed for the night, and once Jack is in bed, he slips into his bedroom, peels his shirt and jeans off, and falls into bed with every bit of force in his body.

Rinse and repeat, just about every day, with variations here and there for weekends and holidays.

He’s a creature of habit which is why, every morning, he doesn’t bother to put a shirt on when he gets up to get a pot of coffee started. He’s in the process of pouring himself a cup when he hears footsteps approaching the kitchen in the apartment. They’re a little too loud and heavy to be mistaken as Jack’s, and when he looks over his shoulder, he makes eye contact with Dean, who looks exhausted and like it’s too early to be up. (Which, really, it is.)

Castiel sets his mug of coffee down, and reaches into a cupboard for another mug, handing it to Dean when the other man opens his hand for it. Dean pours his own mug of coffee, and Castiel shifts back and forth on his feet, his own cup in hand. Dean turns around and it takes a few minutes, plus a few sips of coffee, for him to wake up a little more, to eye him up and down, and to point at his chest and ask, “What are the scars from?”

Castiel looks down at his own chest, and stands there gnawing on his cheek before coming up with the vaguest answer possible. “They’re from a procedure I had when I was younger.”

“What kind of surgery?” Sleep clings to his voice and Castiel kind of wishes he’d stop _staring,_ but he doesn’t let it show.

“Uh. Well. I had to have this… surgery, to align my body with my identity.”

“Oh.” He looks confused, now, and maybe Castiel kind of hates that his brain decides to let him know that Dean looks kind of cute, with his hair sticking up a little weird from how he slept.

“When I was — When I was born, the doctors that delivered me made a mistake and thought that I was supposed to be a — a girl, but as I grew up… I discovered that… I am not. That’s the — that’s the shortest explanation.”

Dean offers him a thoughtful nod, before letting out a little, “Huh,” followed by a shrug.

*

Dean’s folding origami frogs again when Castiel approaches him.

He glances up at him. Before he goes back to folding the origami frog, he asks, “Anything I can do?”

“You can continue folding frogs, if you’d like.” Dean sees him shift a little awkwardly out of the corner of his eye, kind of like he had that morning. He’s quiet for about thirty seconds before saying anything. “I’m sorry if I… Made things weird, or awkward. I’ve been — I’ve been meaning to find a way to explain it, and I feel as if I could’ve gone about it differently.”

Dean clears his throat, finishes the frog, and nudges it aside with the other four that he’s already made today. He looks Castiel in the eye. “Man, don’t worry about it. You don’t owe me anything. Other than your half of the rent and my paycheck, of course.” He winks after saying the last part.

“I should have told you before asking if you wanted to be roommates. I understand if it changes things.”

Dean rolls his eyes at that. “Dude, come on. I’ve known you, _for months,_ as Castiel; a brother, my _friend,_ a kick ass father, and probably the best roommate I’ve ever had, and that’s counting even Sam. I think that, at this point… I think it would be a little weird to act like any of that had changed, because it hasn’t. None of that has changed. You’re _you,_ and I like that, so really, Cas, don’t sweat it.”

Dean also isn’t the best at reading body language, but he can practically _feel_ the relief that comes over Castiel’s face.

“You’ve been worrying about this all day, haven’t you?” He teases.

Castiel draws his lip up a tiny bit as he scrunches the rest of his face at how Dean calls him out. “Maybe. Are you sure you don’t want to ask a bunch of invasive questions?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nah. Been to enough Pride events with Sammy to know better.” He winks, again, before getting up from his chair, brushing his shirt off, and holding his arms out. He flicks his fingers a few times, motioning for Castiel to come closer; “Get over here, man. Bring it in.”

Castiel takes him up on the hug. It’s brief and quick, but Dean squeezes him tight and pats him on the back a few times after the fact.

Castiel seems a little giddy for the rest of the night.

*

**October - 2006**

*

Dean doesn’t mean to insert himself into Castiel’s Halloween plans.

His plans include blowing off work, inviting the receptionist from his last job — Charlie — over, since she’s good with makeup, and since they’d already had preexisting plans to meet up so she could do skeleton makeup on him, before heading off to a party, which is where he planned to drink a little too much and maybe hook up with a pretty girl.

His plans change while Charlie’s in the middle of dabbing black face paint — the alcohol activated kind that dries down and doesn’t smudge — around his eyes. Jack comes barreling into the dining room, followed by a slightly frazzled looking Castiel who scoops him up and mutters an apology.

Jack manages to wiggle his way out of Castiel’s arms before approaching Dean, and admiring the work Charlie’s done so far on his face. “You. Look. _Awesome.”_

Dean cracks an eye open, and Charlie pauses in dabbing the makeup on. “Yeah? You think so, kid?”

He nods fast enough that Dean gets secondhand whiplash. He glances at Charlie to see her smiling.

Jack looks to Castiel, and Dean has to bite his cheek to keep from smiling. He’s never been too huge on kids, but Jack’s grown on him quite a bit. He’s just so _excited_ as he blurts out, “Dad, I wanna look like Dean.”

“You know, bud, if your Dad’s okay with it…” She kneels down, to where she’s at Jack’s eye level, and looks between him and Castiel, “Once I’m finished with Dean, I can make you look _just_ like him.”

Jack doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes are wide as he stares at Castiel, silently begging.

Castiel seems to hesitate for a moment, before shrugging, and mumbling something about being alright with it, as long as he doesn’t have to do any special effects makeup himself.

Jack is over the fucking moon, and Dean thinks he’d feel like a dick if he shot Jack down when the now five year old asks him to tag along while Castiel brings him trick or treating.

*

Charlie slips out, and waves Dean off when he tries to apologize for not going to the party with her. (“Dude, c’mon. Kids always come first, whether or not they’re yours. There’s always a party we could go to.”)

Dean also ends up shrugging his leather jacket off, and handing it to Castiel before they pile into the Impala, under the guise of, “No Danny Zuko costume is complete without a crappy black leather jacket.”

*

The most notable encounter they have while out trick or treating — besides Sam flipping Dean shit for matching his costume with Jack’s when they stop at Gabriel’s house to kick the night off — is when an older lady, one who means well, mistakes Dean and Castiel for a couple.

She drops two full sized Snickers bars into Jack’s trick or treating tote, and once she’s at her full posture, smiling politely, she says, “It’s so nice to see two dads taking their son trick or treating.”

Castiel opens his mouth like he’s about to protest, but Dean throws an arm around his shoulders and smacks a kiss against his cheek. (He also thanks whatever higher power is listening that it doesn’t leave any marks on Castiel’s face.) “Well, you know how it is with kids,” He starts, with a good natured laugh. “You’d do anything to make them happy. Right, honey?”

Castiel looks mildly mortified, but he goes along with it.

The lady seems pleased with herself and Jack’s a little too young to question them, or to do more than look at them while they’re speaking.

When they’re in the Impala again, driving to the next subdivision, Castiel asks him why the hell he did that.

“Honestly, man?” Dean looks from the road, to his face, back to the road, then back to his face; “Just to see the look on your face.”

Castiel squints at him, only resenting the fact that Dean’s so freaking _charming_ a little bit.

*

They end up at Gabriel’s house for the night.

Jack’s sleepy and says something about missing _‘unca Gabby,’_ and they’re a little too far from the house they’re renting together for either Dean or Castiel to want to drive back.

Jack falls asleep in his carseat a little after Dean and Castiel reach a decision.

“As much as I’d like to sleep in my own bed for the night, I don’t think I can handle sitting in your car for longer than absolutely necessary.” Castiel’s tapping a pack of cigarettes against his palm. He makes it a point to not smoke around Jack, but that doesn’t mean he can’t fidget. “My ass is sore.”

Dean makes a noise of acknowledgment. “Traffic’s a little too screwed up for me to want to drive back. I don’t even know why we’re still justifying it. We already made a decision.”

“Conversation?”

“Fair enough.”

*

Castiel gets Jack’s face and neck wiped free of the face paint, and gets him changed into one of Gabriel’s old t-shirts to sleep in, before putting him to bed for the night.

He ends up joined by Dean on the back patio. He lets the slightly older man bum a smoke, and once Dean takes a single drag off of the cigarette, he says, “Gabriel told me there’s only one other free bed in the house, since Sam needs an office for his homework, or whatever. You can take the bed, if you want.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel keeps his voice down, mostly since he’s tired. “Sam’s first class is at seven, and both he and Gabriel are up at five. Admittedly… You’re a little… _grouchy_ when you’re woken up too early.”

Dean nudges him. He’s laughing when he tells Castiel to fuck off. “I mean, I’m cool with it if you want to share the bed, man. I always offer to take the couch, just in case.”

Castiel hums quietly. “We can share the bed, or get into a pissing contest over who gets the couch.”

His dry response makes Dean laugh again. “It can be an adult sleepover. Instead of, fuckin… Doing whatever it is that teenagers do during a sleepover, we can talk about taxes until we pass out from exhaustion, or something.”

*

They do talk, while they’re trying to fall asleep, but they don’t talk about taxes.

At first, they’re quiet. Castiel listens to Dean breathe, and he’s nowhere near asleep when Dean asks him if he is.

“Not in the slightest.”

“This is weird.”

“How so?” Castiel turns his head towards Dean, who’s lying on his stomach, already looking at him.

“I don’t think I’ve slept next to anyone in… Nearly two years, not since I broke up with my last girlfriend. It’s just… Y’know, having another person in the room. Not used to it anymore.”

“I haven’t shared a bed with anyone other than my son in…” Castiel has to think, until his brain supplies him with a number. “Six, seven years? Not since I was eighteen or nineteen and living with my girlfriend at the time.”

Dean nods, and yawns. Castiel can sort of see the way his face contorts as he does so. “So, girlfriend, huh…?” An eyebrow — the one not smushed into a pillow, goes up. “Always sort of thought you were gay.”

Castiel shrugs as best as he can. “I think it’s a little redundant to label myself. I do find that women tend to be more empathetic and understanding, thus why I’ve had more girlfriends than boyfriends, _but…_ My heart isn’t picky. If I met a guy who’s cool with everything going on in my life, then… I’d be ‘down,’ so to speak.”

“Gotcha. Sammy’s the same way, from what I understand. It was kind of funny when he came out to me.” Dean yawns again. “He acted like I was going to hate him, or something. I mean, I get it — he was living with me, rent free, and eating my groceries, but… I don’t know. I could never hate him, ‘specially not for that. All I care about is that he’s healthy, happy, and that he’s not hurting anyone.”

Castiel nods. “I understand that. Gabriel… He feels that way towards me. I mean… Most of my family’s cool about me and my identity, but Gabriel’s always gone out of his way for me, kind of how you do for Sam. He’s always been on my team. I mean, shit — my dumb older brother goes and has an illegitimate child, before getting slammed with a prison sentence, and Gabriel moves all the way back here from Norway to help _me_ take care of him.”

“Norway? He lived in _Norway?”_

“Yes. He spent a few years learning as much Norwegian as he could before finding a job over there and moving. He only came back because I needed help with Jack.”

“Your thing with Jack kind of mystifies me, still. I mean, I love Jack as much as I can love my roommate’s kid without getting weird, but… I don’t know. I want to say that if Sammy had a kid before up and disappearing, I wouldn’t take care of it, but… I know I would. Do you get what I mean?”

“Yeah. He’s my son. My parents think it’s weird, and everyone… Everyone acts like it was this huge decision, but, Dean… Shit, I don’t know how to describe it. I held him, and I fell in love. His mother — Kelly — she had some sort of hemorrhage and didn’t — didn’t make it, and Lucifer — yes, I have a brother named Lucifer — was more than happy to sign away his parental rights so I could adopt him, as long as it meant he was responsibility free. But. I held him in my arms, and something in me just _knew_ what I had to do. I’m not a perfect parent by any means, but I love him more than anything, and that decision — it really wasn’t even a decision.”

Castiel doesn’t realize he’d been tearing up until there’s a hand in his personal space, and a thumb rubbing under one eye, before the side of Dean’s hand wipes under the other one. Dean’s hand goes back under the blanket, back to being folded under his chest. “I don’t quite know what to say, but… I like that. You’re a good man, Cas. Not a lot of men would do that. If we weren’t laying down I’d probably give you a hug.”

“It’s alright. Do you have any life stories that you want to share?”

Dean yawns for the seventh time, and they lay there in silence for awhile. “Wanna hear about the time Sammy and I were almost adopted?”

“Of course.”

Castiel watches Dean’s face shift here and there as he tries to think of what to say. “Our mom died when Sam was eleven and I was fifteen. She had cancer, and it was — it was pretty rough, on all of us. Especially our dad. He took it the hardest. I’m still pissed with the sumbitch for how he’s treated me and Sam, and… I don’t know. After she died… He just changed. It was like part of him left with her.” Dean sniffs and the expression on his face is grim.

“We moved around a little bit, at least for a few months. CPS only stepped in after Dad broke my nose during one of his drunken rampages. We didn’t have any close relatives, but… Bobby lived within a five hour drive of where we were at the time, so… He took us in, and we lived with him for, what… a year and a half? Two years? Long enough for Dad to get his shit together and to convince whatever people are in charge of custody shit that he was fit to take care of us again. It was also around the time Bobby was trying to get the ball rolling on officially adopting us. I was pretty pissed about it.”

“Your dad… He sounds like he sucks.”

“He does. I’ve never seen someone able to suck the life out of a room like he can.” Dean grunts, and Castiel can feel one of Dean’s legs shifting a little bit, bending at the knee. “Tell me something funny, because that just killed my mood.”

Castiel blanks for a few moments before thinking of something. “I had just gotten back from taking Jack to visit my parents in Detroit, and that morning happened to be the morning after Sam and Gabriel went on their first date. Sam comes stumbling into the kitchen, with those long, uncoordinated horse legs of his, and for the briefest moment, he thought I was Gabriel’s husband, and that Jack was our kid.”

Dean has to fully shove his face into the pillow he’s on to keep from waking the whole house up from giggling. “I can just _imagine_ it.”

“In case you haven’t noticed — I can be pretty awkward when I don’t know someone. That… That was probably one of the more awkward experiences of my life, including coming out of the closet to my entire family.”

Dean has a blinding grin on his face and something with in Castiel deflates. Dean holds a hand up, and Castiel takes the hint to give him a gentle high five.

They continue talking for awhile longer, all hushed tones and quiet laughing fits, before one of them (Dean) finally falls asleep.

*

**November - 2006**

*

Sam’s taking a break from an essay when he sees that he has an email from John that’s addressed to both himself and Dean. It’s simple and short; he asks if either of them have plans for Thanksgiving, stating that he’d like to have a chance to visit with them and to catch up. (At this point in time, Thanksgiving is a few weeks out.)

Dean either hasn’t seen the email, or he hasn’t responded to it, Sam assumes, since he doesn’t have any other emails from either of them poking around his inbox.

He decides to respond then and there, and pulls Gabriel into the room to ask for his input and advice on the matter. “It’s just — I want to be blunt, and to tell him that I have a boyfriend, and that I want our first Thanksgiving together to be… special, I guess, and that I don’t quite trust him to not pick a fight, y’know?”

Gabriel nods, thoughtfully, and leans against the wall next to the desk Sam’s laptop is on. “You want me to be honest?”

Sam nods.

“Alright. I’d leave out the part about not trusting him to not pick a fight, since that could be taken wrong, but… As long as your safety isn’t a question in this situation, I’d just tell him that you have a boyfriend, and since this is our first Thanksgiving together, I’d tell him you have plans already.”

“Honestly, I think that if anything, he’d probably just not talk to us until he got over his shit.” Sam scoots back in his desk chair, and pulls one of his knees to his chest, heel resting precariously on the edge of the seat. He tugs his laptop closer to himself, and starts typing.

Gabriel watches him the entire time he’s typing, only moving from his spot once Sam turns his laptop a little bit for him to see.

_“I already have plans. I’m in a fairly serious relationship with a wonderful guy, and since this is going to be our first Thanksgiving together, it’s imperative to me that it’s a good one. Unsure about Dean’s plans, but I’m unavailable for Thanksgiving._

_-Sam.”_

Gabriel nods approvingly. “That sounds lovely, Sam.” He also bends down a little bit to wrap his arms around Sam’s shoulders, and to smack a kiss onto his cheek, and Sam’s a little amazed at how such a small gesture makes all of the anxiety and apprehension he’s feeling over the email melt away.

*

Dean’s response turns up a few hours later.

_“Road tripping it to Bobby’s with my roommate and his kid. Already promised I’d be there, don’t want to back out now. Sorry. There’s other holidays for us to have a reunion. D.W.”_

*

“I’ll be honest, Dean, I never really pegged you as the type that bakes,” Castiel admits, leaning against the island in his kitchen with a bottle of beer in hand as he watches Dean peel apples.

“I _don’t_ bake.” He places a peeled apple into a bowl with about five more peeled apples, and gathers up the peel to throw into the side of the sink with the garbage disposal. “When I was in undergrad, apple crisp was one of those things I made, because it was cheap, tasted great, and would last me and my suitemate for, like, a week, whenever I made it. It just so happens that I got really _good_ at making apple crisp, so whenever I have to bring a dish with me to a holiday, I bring that.”

“Speaking of holidays…” Castiel sets his bottle of beer down on the island, and hoists himself up with his arms to sit on the counter, before grabbing the beer again. “Are you sure it’s alright that I tag along with you on Thanksgiving…? I don’t want to impose.”

“Dude, don’t worry about it.” Dean looks over his shoulder for a moment, before grabbing another apple. “You’re, like, kind of family. Our brothers are together, and spending Thanksgiving alone _sucks,_ so I don’t see the problem. Added, Bobby’s more than fine with it. Hell, he _encouraged_ me to bring you. More the merrier, y’know?”

Castiel hums a little bit. “You, and Sam — you’re both very… open. And warm.” He looks down into his beer bottle for a moment, swishing the rest of the liquid around. He’s a little drunk. “My family’s very… Cold, distant… Closed off. You go home for a holiday, and it’s like you’re at some sort of business conference. Home doesn’t _feel_ like home with them, y’know?”

“It’s kind of that way with our dad. When me and Lisa — my ex — broke up, I lived with him for a few weeks before me and Sam moved here, and it was… weird.” Dean’s halfway through peeling another apple when the peel snaps off. It’s not a disaster, or anything, but he’s the kind of person who enjoys peeling an apple in one go. “You’d think… Staying with your parents — or parent, singular, in my case — would… Would feel like coming home, y’know, but it just felt weird. It’s part of why I moved up here with Sam in the first place. Anyways — going back to Bobby’s for holidays always feels as close to home as I’d imagine.”

Castiel nods thoughtfully and knocks back the rest of his beer. “I don’t think I’ve ever really… felt at home. My family dynamic is a little weird.”

“Yeah? How so?” Dean pauses in peeling the apple in his hand to look at Castiel. It’s late, and they’re trying to be quiet, since Jack is in bed. The only light in the room is the overhead light under the microwave, and Castiel has to admire the way the dim, yellow light reflects off of Dean’s face. He doesn’t express any of these sentiments, of course.

“Well… Father marries this nice, well to do woman, right? They have their four kids — Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, and Gabriel. Father’s _very_ into studying scripture and angelic lore when he’s not working, as was his wife. About a month after Gabriel was born… Lo and behold, Father apparently had an affair with Anna’s mother. Caused a lot of… ruckus, so to speak.”

Castiel hops down from the island, to throw his beer bottle away, and to head towards the fridge for a bottle of water, if only to ease whatever hangover he may or may not have the next morning. He continues once he’s opened the bottle and downed a third of it. “Fast forward, say… Eleven years. The eldest four — their mother dies, and Father remarried within the month, to Anna’s mother, and within the year…” He turns around, and opens his arms up, as if to gesture towards himself. “I was born. Out of all of my older siblings, Gabriel and Anna are the ones that have been the kindest to me.”

Dean winces, just a little bit. “Yikes. I think you might win the trophy for Weirdest Family Dynamic, man.”

“Michael, Raphael, and Lucifer have always — _always_ — been cold towards both me, and Anna. It’s why I hate traveling home, unless I know the three of them won’t be there.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better — Bobby and Ellen are probably going to love you like one of their own. Their household never feels… cold, as you’ve put it. If anywhere’s going to feel like home, it’s there, and I don’t care if I have to die trying, man — you and that kid are having a good Thanksgiving this year.”

*

Sam and Jo are put on leftovers duty, meaning it’s their job to get everything put away, and he’s in the middle of scooping the rest of Dean’s apple crisp into a Pyrex dish when Jo lowers her voice to ask him if Dean and Castiel are together.

He has to take a moment to pause, to put the dish the apple crisp had been baked in back down on the counter in Bobby’s kitchen, and to _laugh._ Once he’s recovered from his laughing fit, he speaks. “Not to be an asshole, really, but _where_ did that come from?”

Jo gives him a pointed look, and grabs Sam by the elbow to turn him towards one of the archways leading into the kitchen, and to point at the scene unfolding in the living room. Dean’s sitting on the floor, with Jack in his lap, helping him read a book, sounding the words out with him, and Castiel’s sitting nearby, looking at Dean as if he hung the stars in the sky. Sam makes an ‘o’ shape with his mouth.

Sam keeps his voice low as he responds. “I don’t think they’re together. Dean definitely would’ve said something, or I would’ve heard it from Gabe. And… In his defense, they live together and work together, so you’d figure they’d be close. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Jo scoffs, and turns away from the living room, where she’s not facing Dean. “Have you _met_ your brother, Sam? He’d probably get pissed at me for even thinking about it.”

“Honestly, Jo? That’s more than fair.”

*

**December - 2006**

*

John doesn’t respond to Sam’s email until the week before Christmas, and, if anything, Sam’s more or less pleasantly surprised by the email. He’s in bed, checking his email before sleeping, while Gabriel’s reading a novel written in Norwegian when he refreshes the page and sees the new email. He scoots his leg over, to nudge Gabriel and to get his attention.

Gabriel holds a finger up, and mumbles something that isn’t English. (Sam’s pretty sure all he said was an equivalent to, “Give me a moment.”) Sam watches Gabriel dig his thumbnail into the page of the book, at the end of a paragraph, leaving a little indent to mark his place, before dog earing the page, closing it, and looking him in the eye to ask, “How may I help you, Samuel?”

Sam slowly turns his head towards his laptop, and points at the email at the top of the page. “My dad replied to the last email I sent him.”

“The one where you came out?”

Sam nods. “Should I read it now?” He has his thumbnail in his mouth, too, and if he were sitting up, he’d be jiggling his leg.

“Normally… I’d advise against reading something like that before going to bed, but… I am dangerously curious about what he has to say. It’s up to you.”

Sam makes a noise in his throat, before clicking on the email. Gabriel loops his arm around Sam’s, and leans against him, both as a gesture of comfort, and so he can have an easier time seeing the screen. The email is a little longer than Sam was expecting (especially since he wasn’t expecting a response in the first place) and he holds his breath the entire time he’s reading it, waiting for the ball to drop.

_“I’m sorry for taking so long to come up with a half-way decent response to your email, Sam._

_I know I’ve done a terrible job at being a father, but I do love both you and your brother more than anything, and if I’m welcome, I’d love to visit over Christmas and meet your partner. There are some conversations that need to be had between the three of us, ones that aren’t appropriate to have through an email._

_-John.”_

Sam’s a little misty-eyed by the end of the email, just from being overwhelmed, and he has the cursor hovering over the reply button when Gabriel reaches for his hand, the one on the trackpad. “Sam, it’s late. I’m about as touched as you hopefully are over your father’s email, but I think you should wait until you get a chance to talk to Dean before you say anything to him.”

Sam tugs his hand back, away from the trackpad, and frowns. “I wasn’t expecting him to… I was expecting to open the email to him calling me a — a _fag,_ and disowning me, or _something._ It wouldn’t — it wouldn’t be the _first_ time he’s called me that, either. I honestly only came out to him because I thought… I kind of thought it’d be the straw that broke the camel’s back, and that he’d leave me alone.”

“You weren’t expecting it to open a door, were you?”

Sam shakes his head, and reaches for the lid on his laptop, closing it. He unplugs it from the charger, and tugs his arm free from Gabriel’s so he can lean his laptop against the table on his side of the bed. Gabriel sets his book on his own side table, and when Sam motions for him to do so, he turns the lamp on his side of the bed off.

He has to feel around, for a moment, until his hand comes into contact with Sam’s shoulder blade, and from there, he’s able to scoot closer, to press himself against Sam’s backside, spooning him, _holding_ him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know what _to_ talk about. Hell, I don’t even know what to _think.”_

Gabriel nods, his stubble tickling Sam’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I… _guess._ I’m — I’m overwhelmed, if anything.”

“I don’t know if it needs to be said, but, whatever decision you make regarding your dad… I’ll back you on. You decide you want to visit with him? Then by all means, I’ll turn up ready to defend your honor. You decide he can go fuck himself? Then we can totally just have a nice, peaceful Christmas without him.”

Gabriel feels him nod. It takes Sam a few minutes to come up with a response to that, and his response isn’t what Gabriel was expecting. “I love you. Is that… Is that too much? Am I allowed to say that?”

Gabriel shushes him a little bit, and pulls him closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw, which is about all he can reach. “You’re always allowed to tell me how you feel.”

“Are you gonna say it back, or are you going to keep using your counselor voice with me?”

That makes him snort and laugh a little bit. “I love you too, Sam. Do you want me to say it in another language? Because I totally can.”

Sam mumbles, _“Show off,”_ under his breath, but says, “No one’s ever said they loved me in a different language,” shortly afterwards anyways.

Gabriel kisses his shoulder, the side of his neck, and just in front of his ear, propping himself up a little bit to reach, before whispering it into Sam’s ear; _“Jeg elsker deg.”_ _(See note.)_

Sam smiles, even if Gabriel can’t see it. “I’m gonna be honest, man… That was kind of hot.”

*

“I’m not fucking talking to him,” is the first thing out of Dean’s mouth once he has a cigarette, a bottle of beer, and a burger from a burger joint in his hands. (Sam’s attempt at buttering him up hasn’t quite worked, at least not yet.) Dean uses a little more force than necessary when setting his bottle of beer down on the patio table on his and Castiel’s patio, and holds his cigarette between his lips as he digs the hamburger out of the bag. “Thanks for the beer and the hamburger, but I still have a deviated septum and a fucking _plethora_ of intimacy issues, so, really, I’ll _pass_ on the whole ‘forgiving dad’ schtick.”

Sam takes a seat in one of the patio chairs, and swipes a cigarette from the pack that’s set out next to the ashtray. “And I’m not saying you have to forgive him, but after all of the _bullshit_ he’s put us through… Don’t you maybe want to hear him out?”

“No, I don’t. I’m fine with keeping him at an arm’s length and answering the occasional phone call. Also — how do you know he’s not lying? How do you know he’s not going to show up and beat the shit out of you, or Gabriel, or something? What about all the times he called you a _fag_ because you’re not some macho, over compensating dick?”

“You think I forgot? I haven’t forgotten about anything he’s done, but… Would it be so bad for either of us to get to a place to where we aren’t fucking _scared_ of him? Maybe he’s finally getting help, y’know?”

Dean frowns, and places his cigarette in one of the divots on the ashtray as he takes a bite of his hamburger. “You’re going to convince me, aren’t you?”

“I’m gonna try my best. If you really don’t want to hear him out, I’ll tell him we aren’t comfortable with it, but… I don’t feel like he’s going to pick a fight in front of… What? Seven other people?" Sam counts on his fingers, rattling off a list of names under his breath —  ' _Me, you, Gabriel, Cas, Jack, Anna, and her boyfriend,'_ — before continuing; "And — and maybe it’d be nice, to have _one_ good Christmas with him. For years, Dean, all I’ve wanted out of him was for him to just say _sorry,_ or to at least talk to me like I’m a person, not his disappointment of a son, and it’s _finally_ within reach.”

*

It’s Christmas, and Dean is not at all surprised to find himself sitting around the end of Gabriel’s dining table, with him at the center, and both Sam and his father on either side of him. He’s itching for a cigarette, or for an excuse to _leave,_ but he tries his best to squash the feeling down as much as he can.

Dean has his arms crossed over his chest, and he’s tapping his foot on the floor, jaw cocked, waiting for someone to say something.

John ends up being the one to say something. He speaks to Sam, first, voice quiet and fucking _meek_ and it sets Dean on edge, because he doesn’t quite trust him. “Gabriel seems nice, Sam.”

“Does he?” Dean squints, and gives him a _look,_ expression dropping just slightly at John’s response.

“Well, he’s a little old for your brother, I think, but he does seem nice. Not that I’m criticizing you for your… relationship, at all.” Josh does a slightly defensive little hand gesture.

Sam shrugs, and coolly says, “Fair enough. Not to be a dick, but… Why are you here, Dad? You’ve hardly spoken to me in, what, six years?”

“And the only time you’ve called _me_ in the past two years was so I could foot your insurance bill when Sam was hospitalized last year,” Dean points out.

John gets to the point. “Well… I started going to AA again, and I’m trying to stick with it this time.”

“You’re the poster boy for The Boy Who Cried Wolf when it comes to AA or otherwise getting sober,” Dean snaps. “Why are you here?”

“You’re right, and not that it means anything, but I’ve been sober for six months.” He gently raps his knuckles against Gabriel’s dining table — _knocking on wood_ — and Sam mimics the action.

“I get my one year chip in a few weeks,” Sam admits, nice and quiet, and Dean doesn’t miss the shift in John’s face from vaguely uncomfortable to something bordering on _sad._ “After Jess died, I got with this girl who… wasn’t at all good for me. I was in the hospital last year because I overdosed.”

John seems a little choked up, like he doesn’t quite know how to react, and out of _everything_ he could’ve done — yelled at Sam, yelled at _Dean_ — he reaches over to hold one of Sam’s hands in his own, and to, in a very serious tone, tell him, “I’m proud of you, for staying clean.”

Sam pulls his hand away.

Dean continues to glare.

John clicks his tongue a little bit as he pulls his arms back across the table, back into his own personal space. “Anyways… Part of it, as both of you know, is apologizing. Now, neither of you have to accept my apology, or to forgive me, but I’d at least like a chance to say my piece.”

Dean’s about to snap, again, to say something rude, but Sam cuts him off with the smallest of gestures. He tells John to go on.

And… he does. He apologizes, for how he’s treated both of them, explaining that some of it, in part, was because he’s never given himself a chance to properly grieve Mary’s death, that some of it was his own alcoholism, and that some of it was just flat out resentment and anger — not at them, but at the world. “From a lot of messed up _shit_ that I’ve done, I know there’s no coming back. There are not enough words in the English language that I could use to express how sorry I am for _everything_ I’ve put you two through.”

Dean ends up getting up from the table, muttering something about needing a minute. He exits the dining room, steps through the kitchen, passes through the living room, stopping long enough to give Jack a high five, and to tell Anna he’s okay when she asks.

He doesn’t have a specific destination in mind, but he isn’t surprised to find himself in Gabriel’s guest room. He is a little surprised to see that Castiel’s sitting on the floor of the room, though, rubbing Aquaphor into a new tattoo that he has on his leg. (Dean honestly figured Castiel had stepped out, or something.)

Castiel looks up into his eyes, offering him the slightest suggestion of a smile. “Is Jack misbehaving?”

“No, no, he’s fine. Anna’s doing a crossword with him.” Dean nudges the bedroom door shut behind himself, and shifts awkwardly, trying to decide on what to do.

“Did… something happen?” Castiel rubs his hands on a part of his leg that doesn’t have any Aquaphor on it, before pulling his pant leg back down. “If you need to be alone, I can leave. You seem… upset.”

Dean considers asking him to leave, but when he thinks about it further, he begrudgingly realizes that he doesn’t want to be alone, so he shakes his head. He sits down on the floor, next to Castiel, and glares at a spot on the rug they’re on. He can feel the pressure building in his head, and as his voice cracks when he speaks, it starts hitting him how upset he actually is. “My dad apologized.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything out loud, but he adjusts his position, and gives Dean his full attention.

“I’m not — I’m not good at talking about my… feelings, probably because sometimes it’s easier to just pretend I don’t have any, but… Jesus.” Dean wipes under his eyes and takes a few moments to breathe. “For so long, all I’ve wanted from him was an apology, because I thought it’d fix everything — but now that I have it… I’m _pissed.”_

“Is there anything specific that pissed you off?”

“There’s a lot that’s pissing me off. Part of it… Part of it’s because I didn’t even want to talk to him in the first place. Sam’s been in NA and has had a therapist for _months_ . He’s more — he’s more emotionally equipped to deal with Dad. _I’m not._ I’ve hardly thought about him this past year, y’know?” Dean looks up to make eye contact with him for a brief moment. “He’s had the chance to process all of his issues with Dad. I haven’t. Most of the time I’m _good,_ because I don’t have to think about him or see him, yet I let Sam talk me into agreeing to visit with him, and if anything — it’s just dragged all of my bullshit daddy issues back up.”

“Can I touch you?”

Dean looks at Castiel’s hands. His fingers are twitching, a little bit, and Dean lets out a shaky breath. He nods.

“Okay.” Castiel grabs his shoulder, gently, and uses his other hand to hold Dean’s head in place, by the chin, so they can maintain eye contact as he speaks. “Your feelings towards your father are not bullshit. You’re more than entitled to any feelings you have about your situation, and if I can be honest, I think it was a little unfair to you for Sam to push you into agreeing to this.”

Dean looks away so he can quickly rub the back of his hand over his cheeks. “I feel like an asshole for being pissed at him for this. I get why he wanted to — wanted to talk to him, but I made it _clear,_ right off the bat, that I wasn’t comfortable with it, but he kept pushing and asking and I just… I don’t know. I felt like I had to, because he wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

He sees Castiel tilt and lean his head a certain way, trying to get Dean to look him in the eye without touching his face. “May I be frank with you?”

Dean tells him to go ahead. He doesn’t look him in the eye.

“If you’re ever in a situation where you’re uncomfortable, or unsafe, and you need an out, or someone to talk to, or you need me to have a few words with Sam or whoever else on your behalf, or to just have your back, you are more than welcome to ask me for help. I know we’re not the closest, by any means, but I do care about you, Dean, and your well-being is extremely important to me.”

Dean doesn’t quite know what to say, to any of that, but, “Thank you,” sounds good, so that’s what he says. “If Sam somehow manages to have a relationship with Dad that isn’t _weird,_ then honestly, I’ll be happy for him, but I don’t — I don’t see that happening for _me,_ not unless whatever confrontation that needs to be had happens on my terms.”

“I think that’s fair, Dean.” Castiel’s hand moves from Dean’s shoulder, across his back, until it’s on his other shoulder, and he finds himself being pulled into a hug. “As a parent, and as someone who grew up being basically tormented by most of my older brothers — confrontation like this should happen on your own terms. You’re absolutely right about that. And, Dean, if you don’t ever repair that relationship, or forgive him, or whatever — that’s alright too. Even based on _just_ some of the things you and Sam have told me… I wouldn’t fault you for that, not one bit.”

Dean returns the hug, and although he’s not typically much of a hugger, even he has to admit that he needs one right about now. He has his face tucked against Castiel’s shoulder as he starts rambling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to — to unload like this.”

Castiel shushes him, and pats his back gently, continuing to hold him. “Don’t worry about it. There’s no need to be sorry.”

*

Castiel leaves the room to steal a bottle of water from Gabriel’s fridge, for Dean, and John is gone by the time either of them leave the bedroom again.

*

Dean’s gone through three mimosas, and he’s freezing his ass off on Gabriel’s patio with Castiel — who he’s been gravitating towards for the past week instead of Sam — as they pass the last cigarette from Dean’s pack back and forth on New Year’s Eve. (It’s late and they’re both a little too drunk to just go buy another pack.)

Both of them turn a little bit, towards the sliding glass door, as their family members within the house start counting down from ten. Dean blames it on the mimosas when he giggles and asks, “You wanna kiss?” as he gives Castiel a playful look.

Castiel grins a little stupidly, in the way that he does when he’s drunk and in a good mood, and by the time the countdown is at five, they’re standing closer, chest to chest. It’s not an overly romantic moment, and Dean puts the cigarette out in the ashtray. By the time the countdown is at two, he has hands on Castiel’s cheeks, and when it hits zero, they engage in what is, quite possibly, the messiest kiss he’s ever had with anyone.

*

**January - 2007**

*

They kiss a few more times, laughing as they do so. It’s when he pulls away and Dean has a chance to make eye contact with Castiel that something within him snaps into place, and he thinks, _“Oh, fuck,”_ to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **here's a little norwegian lesson:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Jeg elsker deg - I love you
> 
> OKAY FULL DISCLOSURE: I! AM! NOT! FLUENT! IN! NORWEGIAN! I know a little bit -- some phrases and basic grammar -- but I learned that 'elsker' is kind of a more extreme version of 'love' that you use with romantic partners or people you're VERY close with. Like, in English, 'love' is something that has a more general usage -- you use it with friends and family and romantic partners alike, but I was studying and saw that bit about 'elsker' and it was just... so soft? So i decided to write it in. :') LITERALLY no one is going to care about this but me lmao
> 
> ANYWAYS....
> 
> i live off of feedback so feel free to drop a comment

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone has any rude comments: either rephrase them to be kinder or just... don't comment. i write what i want and thats that?


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